\\\ 


s 


Jl  a  m  i*ii   ii .  ^  J  it  chut 


TERRY  MAGRA  AND  THE  LEPRECHAUUS. 


(tvj^ 


•s^ 


%mh  1^^^^ 


nrw 


^.-  {J   i 


HUMOUOUS  STORIES. 


JOHN    BEOUGHAM 

(the  celebrated  comedian.) 


NEW  YORK : 

DERBY   &   JACKSON,    119    NASSAU   ST, 

1857. 


I 


*>HEUN 

EvTKRED  according  to  Act  of  CongreM,  in  the  year  18M,  toy 

DERBY    &    JACKSOX, 

In  th«  Clerk's  Offic«  of  the  Diatrict  Court  of  the   United  Sutes  for  the  Southern  Diatrict  ol 
^•cw  Vurk. 


W.  H.  TiNBoN,  Stereotyper.  Guo.  Rnasnx,  Printer.  G.  W.  Ai-siandkb,  Binder. 


TO 

SAMUEL     LOYEK, 

THESB 

FAINT        K     G     H     O     E    S 

OP  A 

THEME    WHICH    HE    HAS    CAUGHT 

IN   ITS   ORIGINAL 

PURITY    AND    STRENGTH 

ASB 


7^'41v3 


I 


1 


PREFACE. 


Peksaps  the  most  interesting,  if  not  the  most  instructive, 
records  of  any  nation,  are  its  traditions,  and  legendary  tales, 
and  in  no  part  of  the  world  can  there  be  found  so  varied  and 
whimsical  a  store,  as  in  Ireland,  Every  portion  of  the  coun- 
try ;  every  city,  town,  and  village ;  nay,  almost  every  family 
of  the  ''  real  ould  stock  "  has  its  representative  share  in  the 
general  fund. 

It  is  a  very  curious  study  to  trace  the  analogy  between  the 
early  mythic  st^)ries  of  all  countries,  their  similarity  being  strik- 
ingly obvious.  The  great  landmarks  of  actual  history  are  by 
them  vividly  defined,  and  their  integrity  sustained.  As  an 
instance — the  universal  nature  of  the  mighty  deluge  which 
swept  the  youthful  world,  finds  its  record  not  alone  in  the 
annals  of  that  wondrous  people,  in  whose  line  has  descended 
all  we  know  of  learning  and  religion ;  but  also  in  the  oral  tra- 
ditions and  semi-historic  accounts  of  many  other  nations  which 
have  since  merged  into  the  stream  of  chronology. 

I  mention  this  particular  instance  for  the  purpose  of  fixing 
the  originality  of  an  early  anecdote,  very  often  reproduced  and 
claimed  by  sundry  joke  chroniclers,  as  well  as  to  give  the  Irish 
tradition  upon  the  same  subject.  Here  are  the  words  of  the 
Veracious  historian  Leland : 


VI  PREFACE. 

"When  Noah  -vvas  building  the  ark  to  preserve  himself 
and  his  family,  one  Bith,  a  uian  of  note  and  substance — an 
antideluvian  millionaire,  no  doubt — with  his  daughter  Sesar, 
applied  to  the  Patriarch  for  admission,  thinking,  of  course, 
that  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  step  up  to  the  captain's  office,  and 
settle.  But  Noah  denied  their  request — probably  from  want 
of  accommodation.  On  receiving  this  repulse,  Bith  collected 
his  family  together,  and,  as  the  result  of  their  deliberations, 
they  resolved  to  build  a  similar  vessel  for  their  own  private 
use — a  very  sensible  determination  it  must  be  conceded. 
"When  the  ship  was  finished,  Bith  together  with  his  wife, 
Beatha,  his  two  daughters,  Sesar  and  Barran,  with  their 
respective  husbands,  Ladhra  and  Ronton,  onAJifty  of  the  most 
beautiful  women — inordinate  rascals — that  could  be  induced 
to  venture  along  with  them,  took  passage  therein ;  but  nnfor- 
tunately,  not  knowing  the  exact  period  when  the  rain  would 
begin  to  descend — a  diluvian  '  Merriam  '  would  have  been  of 
great  va^ue — they  put  to  sea  forty  days  too  soon,  and  these 
raw  sailors,  for  want  of  skill  in  navigation,  were  tossed  and 
driven  from  sea  to  sea  for  the  space  of  seven  years  and  a 
quarter — how  they  victualled  their  independent  ark  the  his- 
torian deems  a  matter  of  no  import — at  last,  however,  they 
landed  upon  the  western  coast  of  Ireland  at  a  place  called 
Dunnamberk,  in  the  barony  of  Corchadie  Ibhne,  near  about 
pr.ndown.  "When  they  found  themselves  safely  ashore,  the 
three  men  agreed  to  divide  the  fifty  women  betAveen  them. 
Bith,  besides  his  wife,  had  seventeen  for  his  share,  Ronton 
had  his  wife  and  seventeen  more,  and  f;ndhra  was  satisfied 
with  the  sixteen  that  remained — good  easy  man." 

In  justice  to  our  historian  it  must  be  admitted  that  he 
expresses  strong  doubts  as  to  the  truth  of  the  legend.     "It  is  ' 
thought,"  says  he,  "  to  be  an  unaccountable  relatic 


PREFACE.  tii 

whence  intelligence  could  be  had  of  what  passed  in  this 
island  before  the  flood,  is  out  of  my  power  to  conceive.  Wo 
have,  indeed,  some  ancient  manuscripts  that  give  a  legendary- 
account  of  four  persons  who,  they  say,  lived  before  and  after 
the  deluge,  and  afterwards  divided  and  possessed  themselves 
of  the  four  parts  of  the  world ;  but  our  antiquaries  that  are 
best  acquainted  with  the  history  of  Ireland,  reject  such  fables 
with  just  indignation.  As  for  such  of  them  who  say  that  Fion- 
ton  was  drowned  in  the  flood,  and  afterwards  came  to  life  and 
lived  long  enough  to  publish  the  antediluvian  history  of  the 
island — probably  with  some  enterprising  patriarchal  "  Bunce 
Brothers  " — what  can  they  mean,  except  to  corrupt  and  per- 
plex the  original  annals  of  the  country  ?" — "What,  indeed,  Mr. 
Leland  ? 

But  this,  you'll  say,  has  nothing  to  do  with  Irish  Echoes. 
"Well,  to  be  candid,  I  don't  think  it  has.  The  fact  is,  my 
thoughts  took  an  erratic  flight  in  that  direction,  and  this 
obedient  servant  between  my  thumb  and  fingers  had  to 
accompany  them,  nolens  volens. 

"With  regard  to  the  pages  which  follow,  I  have  endeavored 
to  imbue  them  more  with  a  Hibernian  spirit,  than  with  any 
attempt  at  orthographic  peculiarity,  inasmuch  as  I  consider  it 
but  a  factitious  species  of  wit  which  hinges  upon  an  amount 
of  bad  spelling.  I  have,  therefore,  abstained  in  a  great  meas- 
ure from  perverting  the  language,  only  doing  so  where  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  give  individual  character. 

Some  of  the  sketches  are  now  for  the  first  time  presented; 
others  have  before  appeared,  but  such  as  they  are,  here  they 
are;  all  I  can  say  in  their  favor  is,  that  they  were  drawn 
trom  no  source  but  my  own  invention ;  could  I  have  done 
better,  be  assured  I  would ;  and  yet,  although  they  are  not  as 
perfect  as  I  might  wish  them  to  be,  still,  I  am  not  without 


•Viii  PREFACE, 


hope,  that  some  amusement,  and  also — or  my  arrows  have 
indeed  been  shot  awry— some  incentives  to  a  deeper  reflection 
than  accompanies  the  mere  story-telhng,  may  be  found  scat- 
tered here  and  there  amongst  them. 


DAN    DUFF'S    WISH, 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT 


CHAPTER    I. 

The  burthen  wearies  him  who  bears  it ; 
And  the  shoe  pinches  him  who  wears  it. 

A  VERY  snug,  comfort-suggesting  apartment  is  the 
parlor  of  Squire  Bulworthy,  the  rich  grazier,  upon  which 
you  and  I,  friend  reader,  are  about  so  unceremoniously  to 
intrude  ourselves. 

If  you  will  but  look  around  you,  you  will  see  that  all 
the  appliances  of  home  delectation,  procurable  in  so 
insignificant  a  town  as  Ballinasquash,  are  here  gathered 
together ;  that  looking-glass  is  the  pride  of  the  domestic 
circle  and  the  envy  of  the  neighborhood ;  those  easy-chairs 
look  as  though  tired  humanity  might  find  instant  relief 
from    their    ample    plumpness ;    the   side-board,  with   its 


10 


brilliant  array  of  flashing  decanters  and  hospitable-looking 
glasses,  not  mean,  tailor-soul ed,  thimble-measure  aggrava- 
tors,  but  huge  whisky-punch  goblets  and  wines  of  capa- 
cious magnitude;  then  the  carpet,  kidderminster  to  a 
certainty,  dazzling  in  the  variety  of  its  crimson  and  blue, 
and  yellow,  displaying  apochryphal  flowers  and  inexplicable 
flourishes,  such  as  put  to  the  blush  the  most  profound 
eff"orts  of  unartistic  nature. 

You  must  agree  with  me,  taken  altogether,  that  there  is 
an  air  of  supreme  content  and  well-to-do-ableness  about 
the  entire  surroundings,  rendered  absolutely  certain  by  the 
smirking  countenance  of  the  Squire  himself,  as  it  smiles 
complacently  upon  you  from  that  prodigiously-ornamented 
frame — that  jolly  red  nose  is  unmistakably  indicative  of 
good  living — those  twinkling  eyes  display  the  very  fire  of 
self-satisfaction ;  the  town  counsellor  evidences  itself  in 
the-going-to-address-the-meeting  attitude,  and  the  man  of 
means  flashes  from  every  link  of  that  ponderous  watch- 
chain  and  coquets  amongst  those  massive  seals. 

Bulworthy  is  evidently  well  ofl". 

"  Hallo,  what  noise  is  that  proceeding  from  yonder 
room  ?" 

"  Get  out,  you  scoundrel." 

It  is  a  fat,  gurgling,  wheezy  kind  of  voice,  Bulworthy's, 
and  speaking  sets  him  coughing  an  uncomfortable,  apo- 
plectic sort  of  cough,  like  the  sough  of  wind  escaping  from 
a  cracked  bellows. 

"  Get  out,  you  vagabone ;  ugh !  ouf !" 

A  singular-looking  man-servant  makes  a   sudden   exit 


AND     WHAT.   CAME     OF     IT.  11 

from  the  room,  very  evidently  hurt,  physically,  just  as  an 
equally  singular  female  domestic  enters  at  the  door, 
having  a  substantial  matutinal  repast  upon  a  large-sized 
tray. 

"Keep  us  from  harum,"  said  she,  in  a  delicious  Tip- 
perary  brogue,  soft  as  honey ;  "  and  what's  that  ?" 

"Troth,  an  it's  me,  Moll,  I  b'leeve,"  replied  the  ejected, 
lustily  rubbing  the  part  aflfected. 

"  What's  happened,  Barney  ?" 

"  Oh !  it's  ould  Bulworthy,  bad  cess  to  him,"  said  Bar- 
ney, in  an  undertone,  wincing  and  twisting  from  pain; 
"  he's  what  he  calls  astonishin'  me." 

"What  for?"  inquired  Mary,  forgetting  that  she  was 
running  considerable  risk,  from  the  circumstance  of  delay- 
ing the  Squire's  breakfast. 

"  The  devil  a  one  ov  me  knows ;  whiniver  he's  crass,  he 
thinks  that  hittin'  me  a  lick  will  bring  him  straight; 
bedad,  if  such  showers  of  good  luck  as  he's  had  all  his  life 
drownds  a  good  timper  as  his  is  drownded,  I  hope  I  may 
niver  be  worth  a  scurrig  as  long  as  I  breathe." 

"  Indeed,  an'  I  have  the  same  sort  of  comfort  wid  the 
mistress,"  said  Mary.  "Haven't  I  had  the  heart's  blood 
of  an  illigant  scowldin'  jest  now,  for  sugarin'  her  ladyship's 
tay  wid  brown  ?" 

"  Why,  murther  alive,  Mollshee,  you  don't  tell  me  that 
it's  the  lump  she  uses  ?" 

"  Not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it,  nigh  hand  an  ounce  of  tay  in 
the  taypot,  too,"  replied  Mary,  with  a  what-do-you-think- 
of-that  expression. 


13  DAN     DUFFS     WISH, 

"Faix,  I  mind  the  time,"  said  Barney,  "when  she 
thouo-ht  the  smell  of  that  same  wonst  a  week  was  a  nose- 

o 

"  Thrue  for  you,  indade,  an'  not  long  ago,  aither." 

Here  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to  the  gossipping  Hebe. 

"  Murther  alive !"  said  she,  with  a  start  that  made  the 
cups  rattle ;  "  if  I  ain't  forgettin'  ould  Bluebeard's  break- 
fast ;  there'll  be  wigs  on  the  green,  if  the  could's  come  at 
the  eggs,  for  he's  mighty  perticular  entirely." 

So  saying,  she  knocked  a  timid  knock  at  the  door  of  the 
dreaded  Squire's  room;  a  fierce  "Come  in,"  followed  by 
the  inevitable  cough,  hurried  her  into  the  apartment, 
from  whence  she  emerged  again  very  shortly,  and,  with 
stealthy  step  and  a  look  more  eloquent  than  words,  indi- 
cated the  state  of  Bulworthy's  temperament. 

Just  then,  there  was  a  quiet  little  ring  at  the  hall  bell. 
"Eun,  you  divil,  run,"  says  Barney.  "It  kills  him  intirely 
to  hear  that  bell  goin';  who  is  it?  if  you  let  'em  ring 
twice,  he'll  massacree  me  ;  oh !  it's  you,  is  it  ?"  he  con- 
tinued, as  a  neat,  clean,  tidy  woman  entered  the  room, 
holding  in  her  hand  a  capacious  pair  of  top  boots. 

It  was  Mrs.  Peggy  Dufi",  the  comfortable  little  wife  of 
Dan  Duff,  the  cobbler.  "  Save  all  here,"  said  she,  as  she 
came  in. 

"  Amen  to  that  same,  includin'  yer  own  purty  self,  Mrs. 
Duff,"  replied  Barney,  with  a  touch  of  comic  gallantry. 

"  Sure,  an  it's  the  hoighth  of  polite  you  are,  Mr.  Pal- 
thogue,"  replied  Peggy. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  hurt  your  purty  little  mouth  by 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  13 

thryin'  to  squeeze  such  a  big  name  out  of  it,"  said  Barney, 
giving  her  a  knowing  squint.  "  Sure,  Barney  used  to  be 
enoujjh  to  fill  it  wonst."  ' 

"  Ah !  but  the  times  is  althered  now,  Mr.  Barney,"  she 
rejoined  ;  "  ould  Pether  Bulworthy — the  saints  be  good  to 
us,  I  mean  the  Squire's  mounted  sky-high,  like  a  kite,  an 
ov  coorse  you've  gone  up  with  him  like  the  tail." 

"  But  it  ain't  my  nater  to  forget  ould  friends  for  all  that, 
Peg  machree. 

"  Sure,  an  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  anyway,  for  it's  mighty 
few  heads  that  doesn't  get  dizzy  whin  they're  hoisted  up 
upon  a  hill  of  fortune,  especially  on  a  suddent  like." 

Their  further  conversation  was  unceremoniously  cut 
short  by  a  roar  from  Bulworthy's  room ;  now,  the  Squire's 
style  of  using  the  English  language  was  highly  original 
and  somewhat  peculiar ;  with  him,  the  greater  the  number 
of  syllables,  and  the  more  imposing  the  sound  of  the  sen- 
tences, the  better  were  they  qualified  to  make  a  proper 
impression  upon  the  ignohile  vulgus,  amongst  whom  it  was 
his  ambition  to  pass  for  a  "  Sir  Oracle  ;"  but  let  him  speak 
for  himself.  You  must  imagine  each  word  to  be  accom- 
panied by  that  ear-wounding,  wheezing  cough. 

"  What  horribly  atrocious  and  propinquitous  oration  is 
that  goin'  on  out  there,  eh  1" 

Barney  trembled  to  the  heels  of  his  brogues.  "  Talk  to 
him.  Peg,"  said  he,  in  an  agitated  whisper,  "  while  I  make 
meself  scarce;  don't  be  afeared,"  he  added,  as  he  stole 
quietly  off".  "A  woman's  voice  softens  him  down  like  a 
sun-ray  on  a  snowball." 


14  DAN     duff's     WISH, 

"  Hallo  there,"  shouted  the  Squire.  "  Am  I  obligated 
to  keep  continuitously  requestin'  an  elucidation  of  that 
rumbunctiousness  outside ;  who's  there  ?" 

"  If  ye  plaze  sir,  it's  only  me,"  replied  Peggy,  "  wid 
ye  honor's  honorable  '  tops  '  that  wanted  heel-piecin'." 

"  Oh !  Ah !"  wheezed  Bulworthy.  "  Wait,  my  good 
woman ;  I'll  finish  dressin'  with  all  convaynient  circumlocu- 
tion, and  come  to  you." 

"  Good  woman,  indeed,"  thought  Peggy,  with  a  toss  of 
her  head  and  a  chirp.  "  Sure  an'  there's  oil  on  his  tongue 
sense  he's  turned  Squire,"  and  then,  with  something  akin 
to  envy,  she  began  to  scan  the  various  articles  of  home- 
ornament  scattered  about  the,  to  her,  magnificent  parlor, 
soliloquizing  at  the  same  time.  "  Look  at  the  chairs, 
stufi"ed  seats,  as  I'm  a  sinner,  wid  hair,  too,  I'll  be  bound. 
Mahogany  tables,  if  you  plaze,  all  covered  over  wid  useless 
curiosities  an'  books  that  nobody  sees  the  inside  ov;  did 
anybody  ever  see  the  likes ;  what's  this  ?"  as  her  eye 
caught  sight  of  a  handsome  cologne-bottle.  "Madame 
must  have  her  sr-.ints  an  her  sweet  wathers,  to  wash  away 
the  smell  of  the  shop,  may-be ;  I  remimber  the  time  when 
they  kep'  a  little  bit  of  a  huxtherin'  place,  and  all  the 
parfume  they  could  musther  pToceeded  from  the  soap  and 
candles,  and,  may-be,  a  red  herrin'  or  two  to 'give  the  rest 
a  flavior." 

At  this  moment  the  Squire  lumbered  into  the  room  in 
all  the  majesty  of  a  brilliant  calico  dressing-gown  ;  seating 
himself  grandly  in  a  large  arm-chair,  and  patronizingl} 
waving  his  hand  towards  Peggy,  in  a  bland  and  conde 


AND    WHAT     CAME     OF      IT.  15 

scending  tone  of  voice,  he  moderated  his  impatience  down 
to  the  true  keep-your-distance  point. 

"  Well,  ma'm,"  said  he,  so  you've  brought  the  tops  at 
last,  after  me  waitin'  for  them  a  tremenjus  course  of  time ; 
tell  that  waxy  conglomeration  of  cobblin'  connubiality,  Mr. 
Duflf,  your  husband,  that,  in  consequence  of  his  haynious 
neglect,  I  have  been  obligated  to  annihilate  my  usual  run 
wid  the  Ballinasquash  hounds.  What's  the  remunera- 
tion?" 

"  If  you  mane  the  pay,  sir,"  replied  Peg,  with  a  rever- 
ence, "  it*s  on'y  a  shillin'." 

"I  have  no  small  pecuniation  in  the  way  of  silver,"  said 
Bulworthy,  plunging  his  great  fist  into  his  enormous 
pocket,  and  rattling  several  gold  pieces  about  in  a  most 
tantalizing  manner,  a  general  practice  with  purse-proud 
ignorance,  adding,  with  characteristic  meanness,  "  can  you 
change  me  a  sovreign  ?" 

Poor  Peggy's  face  flushed  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair; 
he  knew  she  couldn't,  and  she  knew  he  knew  so. 

"Indeed,  sir,"  said  she,  "It  wouldn't  be  convaynent  just 
now;"  and  it  was  with  difficulty  she  restrained  herself 
from  hinting  that  it  was  only  recently  that  he  himself  had 
the  power  to  put  the  insolent  question. 

"  Well,  then,  ma'm,"  said  he,  pompously ;  "  all  I  can  say 
is,  that  you  must  pedestrianize  in  this  vicinity  on  some 
anterior  opportunity ;  for  the  present,  you  can  perambu- 
late— to  make  myself  understandable  to  your  limited  capa- 
cities— walk !" 

"  Yes  sir,  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Peggy,  humbly  courte- 


16  DAN     duff's     wish, 

Bving  to  the  domestic  sultan,  and  only  wondering  how  he 
could  keep  any  teeth  in  his  head,  using  such  hard  words. 

"  Good  niornin'  to  you,  Squire,"  she  said,  as  she  retired, 
"  Here's  wishin'  you  safe  through  the  dictionary." 

"  What  does  the  oleaginous  faymale  mane ;  oh !  these 
abominaceous  phlebians  laugh  at  me,  in  spite  of  all  I  can 
do  to  impress  them  with  the  importance  of  my  station ; 
with  all  the  pride  of  my  brick  building,  I  can't  altogether 
root  out  the  recollection  of  the  little  grocery ;  and,  indeed, 
if  it  comes  to  that,"  he  continued,  with  a  real  sigh,  "  I  used 
to  be  a  great  deal  happier  when  1  was  scrapin'  up  money, 
by  weighin'  out  hay-porths  of  sustainance  to  the  surroundin* 
population  than  I  am  now,  and  the  advantitious  title  of 
Squire  tacked  on  to  my  cognomination." 

His  nerves  gave  a  sudden  thrill  as  a  shrewish  voice  from 
an  adjacent  room,  squealed  out,  "Are  you  there,  Pether?" 

"  Yes,  my  love,"  he  replied,  quickly,  while,  in  an  under- 
tone, he  murmured  to  himself,  "  ah  !  there's  a  melancholy 
laceration  to  my  gentility,  my  cary  spowsy,  I  can't  instill 
aristocratical  idayas  into  her  deleterious  temperature,  any- 
way." 

Now,  Mrs.  Peter  Bulworthy  deserves  a  distinctive  para- 
graph, and  she  shall  have  it. 

Although  morally  she  was  Peter's  much  better  half,  yet 
bodily  she  could  aspire  to  no  such  appellation.  In  regard 
of  personal  weight,  they  bore  about  the  same  relative  affin- 
ity as  a  fine,  fat,  substantial  round  of  beef  would  to  the 
carving- fork  beside  it.  The  physical  difierence,  however 
she  amply  made  up  for,  by  keeping  her  prongs  ever  actively 


AND     WHAT     CAMEOFIT.  17 

employed  pricking  tlie  unfortunate  Peter  at  every  assaila- 
ble point.  Peter  was  pinguid,  plump,  and  plethoric — slie 
was  thin  to  attenuation.  Peter's  voice,  though  husky,  was 
rich  and  oily — hers  was  like  the  attrition  of  ungreased 
cart-wheels.  Peter  aflfected  dignity  and  social  status — she 
gloried  in  her  unmitigated  vulgarity ;  he,  poor  man,  had 
long  ago  given  up  every  idea  of  resisting  her  domestic 
tyranny.  "  Anything  for  a  quiet  life,"  was  his  motto,  and, 
with  something  akin  to  proper  retribution,  the  indignities 
and  annoyances,  which  he,  in  the  plenitude  of  his  pocket- 
power,  inflicted  upon  his  poorer  neighbors,  was  repaid  ten- 
fold on  his  devoted  head,  when  he  came  within  the  circle 
of  Mrs.  Bulworthy's  operations. 

"  I  wonder  how  her  temper  is  this  morning,"  thought 
Peter,  as  he  cast  a  furtive  glance  towards  her  eyes  as  she 
sailed  into  the  room,  dressed  in — I  wish  I  could  describe 
that  walking-dress ;  all  I  can  say,  is,  that  it  looked  as  if 
she  had  laid  a  wager  that  she  could  display  in  her  attire 
every  color  in  existence,  and,  won  it. 

"  Well,  Pether  dear,  and  how  is  my  ould  man  to-day  ?" 
said  she.  The  Squire  released  an  imprisoned  sigh,  in  grat- 
itude for  this  manifestation  of  so  unusual  a  mildness  of 
temper ;  emboldened  thereby  to  remonstrance,  he  also  ven- 
tured to  remark : 

"  I  wish,  my  love,  you  wouldn't  address  me  by  the  anti- 
quitous  appellation  of  'ould  man.'  It  was  all  very  well 
when  we  kept  a  bit  of  a  shop  " 

"  Oh,  now,  Pether,  you're  comin'  over  me  wid  your 
laming,"  she  replied,  with  a  dash  of  vinegar.     "  You  know 


18  DAN      duff's      wish, 

that  I  never  cared  a  thranieen  for  the  likes,  nor  never 
wants  to  make  myself  out  anything  but  what  I  am.  Not 
all  as  one,  as  some  folks  I  know,  that's  never  happy  except 
they're  spittin'  out  mouthfuls  of  words  big  an'  hard  enough 
to  crack  filberts  wid.  You  see  I  can  talliate  if  I  like,  Mr, 
Pether." 

"  Re-taliate,  obscurest  of  feminines." 

"Well,  it's  all  the  same,  bless  my  soul,  if  one  only 
understands  what's  meant,  what  does  it  si'nafy  what's  said  ?" 

"  '  Si'nafy,'  madame,"  replied  Bui  worthy,  settling  him- 
self into  a  magisterial  position,  "  do  you  think  that  us  octo- 
graramarians  take  no  pride  in  the  purity  of  our  entomol- 
ogy, skintax,  and  progeny.  Go  an'  busy  yourself  about  the 
futilities  of  domestic  exuberance  and  leave  polite  literature 
to  the  intellectual  sect." 

"  Meanin'  you,  I  suppose,  you  concated  omathaun^''^  said 
the  lady,  with  a  shrug  of  her  pointed  shoulders,  adding,  in 
a  more  decided  tone,  whose  effect  was  instantaneously  visi- 
ble on  the  countenance,  and  in  the  courage  of  her  spouse, 
"  Come,  we've  had  enough  of  this  ;  put  on  your  boots,  an' 
take  me  out  for  a  walk." 

Just  snugly  ensconced  in  his  favorite  arm-chair,  his  slip- 
pered feet  on  the  cozy  fender,  and  the  county  paper  on  his 
knee  as  yet  unfolded,  Peter  would  have  given  a  great  deal 
to  be  left  in  his  undisturbed  quiet,  but  one  glance  at  those 
determined  eyes  convinced  him  of  the  futility  of  resist- 
ance. With  a  profound  groan,  he  laid  down  the  coveted 
newspaper,  took  up  his  boots,  and,  without  attempting  a 
remonstrance,  walked  into  his  bed-room,  saying : 


A  ^-  D    \y  11  A  r    c  A  1.L  i:    o  f    it.  19 

"  Certainly,  dear.  I  shall  prepare  my  perambulating 
habiliments  directly." 

"Pooh,  I  wish  these  long  words  would  stick  in  your 
throat  and  choke  you  some  day,"  screamed  his  amiable 
helpmate ;  but,  when  he  was  out  of  earshot,  her  face  relaxed 
into  a  more  gentle  expression.  "  Poor  Pether,"  said  she, 
"  he  wants  to  stick  himself  up  for  a  gentleman ;  now  that 
we've  got  away  from  the  grocer's  shop,  he  can't  bear  to 
hear  the  sound  of  the  place  mentioned,  which,  as  in  duty 
bound  I  do,  twenty  times  a  day  ;  if  I  didn't  keep  him  in 
wholesome  subjection,  he'd  get  the  upper  hand  of  me,  as 
he  does  with  all  the  rest.  Now  Pether,"  she  cried,  eleva- 
ting her  shrillness  into  a  whistle,  "  am  I  goin'  to  be  kept 
danglin'  here  all  the  blessed  mornin'  ?" 

"  I'm  coming,  I'm  coming,  impatient  individuality,"  said 
Peter,  from  his  room,  where,  to  do  him  credit,  he  was  hur- 
rying through  the  unwelcome  process  with  considerable 
alacrity  ;  "  arrah,  how  do  you  suppose- a  gentleman  can  beat- 
ify his  external  appearance  in  such  a  momentous  space  of 
time  ?  but,  here  I  am,  at  your  service,  ma'am,"  he  contin- 
ued, as,  in  all  the  dignity  of  snowy  shirt-frill,  bright  blue 
body-coat,  and  big  brass  buttons,  white  cord  breeches,  and 
shiny  top-boots,  his  great  bunch  of  watch-seals  bobbing 
about  like  the  pendulum  of  a  clock,  a  black  thorn  stick 
under  his  arm,  and  a  wonderfully-furry  white  hat  covering 
his  moon-looking  face,  he  fancied  himself  the  very  imper- 
sonation of  moneyed  importance. 

"  And  maybe  you'll  tell  me,  ma'am,"  said  he,  as  he  pulled 
on  a  pair  of  big  buckskin  gloves,  "  what  you  want  to  be 


DAN     duff's     wish, 


gallivantin'    about    the    streets    for    at    this    transitory 
moment  ?" 

"  I  choose  it,"  replied  the  obedient  wife.  "  It's  for  the 
benefit  of  my  health,  so  howld  your  gab." 

"  Ah  !  what  unnatural  vulgarity." 

"  If  you  don't  let  me  be,  I'll  talk  about  the  shop  in  the 
street,  loud,  so  that  everybody  can  hear  me." 

"  I  wish  to  my  gracious  I  had  never  left  it,"  said  he,  with 
a  sigh  so  heavy  that  it  must  have  carried  truth  with  it. 

"  Give  me  your  arm,  do,  and  make  haste,"  cried  Mrs. 
Pether,  giving  a  precautionary  shake  to  her  numerous,  but 
insufficient  flounces.  "  I'm  dyin'  to  dazzle  ould  Mrs.  Ma- 
gillicuddy  with  this  bran  new  shawl." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Pether,  with  a  glance  of  resigned  convic- 
tion, "  that's  what  I  thought  the  benefit  to  your  health 
would  amount  to." 

So  the  Squire  and  his  lady — no,  I  mean  Mrs.  Peter  Bui 
worthy  and  her  husband — sallied  forth,  to  astonish  a  few  of 
their  neighbors,  and  amuse  a  great  many  more  ;  both  Bar- 
ney, the  anomalous  man-servant,  and  Mary,  the  "  maid," 
pulling  up  their  respective  corners  of  the  window-blind  to 
see  them,  and  watch  the  effect  they  produced. 

"  There  they  go,"  grunted  Baraey,  with  a  contemptuous 
toss  of  his  already  scornfully-elevated  nose,  "  the  laughin'- 
Btocks  of  the  whole  town  ;  dressin'  me  up  this  way," — and 
he  gave  his  nether  extremities  a  glance  of  derision — "  like 
an  overgrown  parrot — me,  that  niver  had  anything  on  me 
back,  but  an  ould  canvas  apron,  an'  a  dirty  face,  now  I 
can't  stir  out  o'  the  house,  that  I'm  not  fairly  ashamed  o' 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  21 

meself ;  there  isn't  a  gossoon  in  the  barony  that  doesn't 
know  me  as  well  as  av  I  was  the  town  pump,  an'  I  can't 
show  meself  in  the  place,  that  they  don't  hunt  me  about  as 
av  I  was  a  wild  nagur.  Look  at  them  stockin's,  Mary, 
acush^  there's  flimsy,  skimpin  things,  for  a  cowld  Christian 
to  wear  on  his  gams  ;  I'll  be  ketchin'  me  death  wid  them, 
I  know  I  will.  Mary,  I'll  be  on  me  oath  av  I  don't  think 
them  legs'U  carry  me  off  yit." 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  true  home-angel,  in  this  world  of  strife, 
Is,  man's  best  friend,  a  faithful,  loving  wife. 

Now  turn  we,  courteous  reader,  to  the  contemplation  of 
a  totally  different  scene. 

Not  far  from  the  imposing,  bright,  red  brick  edifice  of 
Squire  Bulworthy — indeed,  you  can  see  it  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street,  with  its  flaring  green  door  and  great  brazen 
knocker,  its  crimson  parlor  curtains  and  every-color-in-the- 
world  window-shades — stands  the  miserable  looking  tene- 
ment inhabited  by  our  cobbling  friend,  Dan  Duff.  The 
walls  are  fashioned  out  of  that  natural,  but  by  no  means 
elegant,  or  expensive  compound,  known  generally  as  "  mud." 
The  roof  is  thatched  with  straw,  but  so  old  and  weather- 
worn that  the  rain   soaks   through  it  as  though  it  were 


22  DAN     DUFFS      WISH, 

sponge ;  while  the  accidental  vegetable  productions  which 
attach  themselves  to  such  decaying  matter,  vainly  struggled 
to  give  it  a  semblance  of  life  and  verdure.  A  dilapidated 
half  door,  and  a  poor  apology  for  a  window,  many  of  the 
small  panes  patched  with  articles  of  used  up  domestic 
material,  were  the  only  means  of  ingress,  ventilation,  and 
light.  Notwithstanding  the  hopeless-looking  poverty  of 
the  whule,  there  were  one  or  two  indications  which,  to  an 
observing  mind,  would  tend  to  lessen,  in  a  remote  degree, 
its  general  wretchedness.  In  the  first  place,  a  few  small, 
cracked  flower-pots  decked  the  little  window-sill,  from 
whence  crept  upward  "  morning-glories,"  and  bright  "  scar- 
let-runners," the  delight  of  industrious  poverty.  Then 
there  was  that  invariable  sharer  of  the  poor  man's  crust 
and  companionship,  a  useless,  and  not  by  any  means  orna- 
mental, cur,  shrewd,  snappish,  and  curiously  faithful,  in 
friendly  contiguity  to  a  well-conditioned  cat.  You  may 
take  your  oath  that  there's  harmony  beneath  the  roof 
where  a  cat  and  dog  are  amicably  domiciliated. 

With  the  above  exception,  the  cabin's  sole  occupant,  at 
the  present  moment,  is  a  woman ;  but  such  a  woman — it's 
the  cobbler's  wife,  before-mentioned ;  here,  however,  she  is 
in  her  peculiar  sphere.  "Home  is  home,  be  it  ever  so 
homely,"  is  a  trite  and  true  aphorism,  and  poor  Peggy,  it 
is  evident,  does  her  best  to  make  this  unpromising  one  as 
full  of  comfort  as  she  can.  Everything  is  scrupulously 
clean  and  in  its  place.  The  little  wooden  dresser  is  as 
white  as  soap  and  sand  can  make  it.  So  is  the  floor,  and 
so  are  the  scanty  household  goods. 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  23 

There  is,  though,  a  shade  of  discomfort  on  Peggy's  pretty 
face  just  now,  as  she  laboriously  plies  her  knitting  needles, 
and  the  small  thundercloud  breaks  out  into  little  flashes 
of  impatience,  as  she  soliloquizes  : 

"  Did  anybody  ever  see  the  likes  of  that  Dan  of  mine  f 
He  couldn't  take  the  "  tops  "  over  to  ould  Bulworthy  him- 
self— not  he  ! — of  course  not — he  wasn't  well  enough  to 
go  out  then^  but  the  minute  my  back  was  turned,  away  he 
cuts  to  the  '  shebeen  '  house  to  get  his  '  mornin' ' —  ugh  !  I 
do  believe  if  he  was  before  me  now,  I'd — but  no — my  poor 
Dan,  it  ain't  much  comfort  he's  got  in  the  world ;  so  I 
won't  say  a  blessed  word  to  worry  him." 

As  if  to  recompense  the  considerate  thought,  Dan's  jolly 
voice  was  heard,  singing  one  of  his  consoling  ditties. 

"Here  he  comes,  bless  him,"  cried  Peg,  joyfully,  "as 
lively  as  a  lark." 

There  was  wonderful  commotion  amongst  the  animals  as 
Dan  entered.  "  Pincher,"  the  apocryphal,  shook  his  apolo- 
gy for  a  tail  as  vigorously  as  that  diminished  appendage 
was  capable  of  accomplishing ;  while  "  Pussy  "  urged  her 
claims  upon  his  attention  by  rubbing  herself  against  his 
legs.     Peg  said  nothing. 

Now,  Dan  perfectly  well  knew  his  delinquency.  Indeed, 
the  song  he  had  just  executed,  in  a  good,  bold  voice,  had 
more  of  "  brag"  in  it  than  real  enthusiasm.  He  saw  how 
the  land  lay  instantly. 

"  Peg,  alanna  machree,  here  I  am,"  said  he.  "  Whisht ! 
I  know  what  you're  goin'  to  say.  Keep  yer  mouth  shut, 
you  hateful  blaggard,  or  I'll  stop  it  up  wid  kisses,  as  close 


24  DAN    duff's    wish, 

as  cobbler's  wax.  There,  Peg,"  he  continued,  after  having 
suited  the  action  to  the  word,  with  a  smack  like  a  carter's 
whip,  "  I  couldn't  help  it — I  couldn't,  upon  my  word.  You 
were  a  long  time  away — and  the  breakfast  was  mighty 
small — and — and — a  sort  of  oneasiness  kem  over  me  inside, 
T  was  lonesome,  and  thinkin'  of  things  as  wasn't  wholesome, 
so  I  thought  I'd  just  stick  another  chalk  up  at  Phil  Moon- 
ey's,  so  don't  say  another  word." 

"  Not  a  word  Dan,"  replied  Peg.  "  Sure,  don't  I  mind 
poor  Mary  Maguire's  case,  how  she  never  let  Mike  rest 
when  he  had  'the  drop'  in  him,  until  at  long  last  he 
stayed  out,  for  the  fear  of  comin'  home ;  the  whisky  is 
too  strong  for  a  woman  to  fight  agin,  Dan,  so,  if  you  like  it 
better  than  me  " — 

That  was  a  skillful  side-blow,  and  it  made  its  mark. 

"  Peg,  you  know  better,  you  thief  of  the  world,  you  do  ; 
you  know,  in  your  pure  little  heart,  that's  too  good  for  me, 
or  the  likes  of  me  ;  that  the  summer  flowers  doesn't  love 
the  sunshine  of  heaven  better  than  I  love  you ;  oh  !  no, 
it  isn't  that,  not  that,  Peg  aroonP 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  Well,  Peg,"  he  continued,  "  its  the  thinks  that  cornea 
over  a  poor  fella  when  he  hasn't  a  scurrig  to  bless  himself 
wid ;  the  thinks  that  lays  a  howld  of  him  when  there's 
nobody  by  but  himself  and  the  devil  that  sends  them, 
thems  the  times  that  worries  a  poor  man.  Peg." 

"  Ah !  Dan,"  replied  the  other,  seriously,  "  but  those 
times  worry  a  wicked  man  worse." 

"Well,  may-be   they  do,"  said  the  cobbler,  doggedly, 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  25 

"  if  a  body  knew  the  truth,  but  it's  bad  enough  either  way. 
Did  the  Squire  pay  for  the  '  tops  V  " 

"  Not  yet,  Dan,  he  hadn't  the  change !" 

"  Hadn't  he,  really,"  replied  the  other,  bitterly.  "  Poor 
fella,  what  a  pity;  there's  a  mighty  great  likeness  betune 
us  in  that,  anyway.  The  upstart  pup,  why  the  divil  didn't 
he  get  change.  There's  the  differ.  Peg,  darlin',  betune 
the  rale  gintleman  and  the  '  musharoon  ;'  a  gintleman  as 
feels  and  knows  he's  one,  and  consequentially  acts  accordin', 
will  always  think  of  the  great  inconvanience  the  want  of 
the  little  bit  o'  money  is  to  the  poor  man,  and  not  the 
small  ditto  to  himself,  in  the  respect  of  gettin'  the  change ; 
back  luck  attend  you,  ould  Bulworthy,  the  w^ant  of  that 
shillin'  has  made  me  break  my  word  in  a  quarther  where 
I'm  mighty  loath  for  to  do  that  same." 

"Where  is  that,  Dan?" 

"  I'll  tell  you.  Peg  ;  on  the  strength  of  that  shillin'  I 
towld  my  inside  that  I'd  give  it  a  threat,  may  I  never 
sin,  acush,  if  I  didn't  promise  it  a  '  sassidge ;'  now,  you  know 
if  you  tell  your  hungryness  to  come  at  a  certain  time,  it's 
generally  apt  to  be  purty  smart  at  keepin'  the  appintmint, 
and,  bedad,  mine  is  waitin'  for  that  sassidge ;  moreover,  it 
ain't  threatin'  a  man's  intayrior  relations  anyway  raysonable 
to  go  back  of  yer  word.  Murdher,  there's  a  twinge — if  it 
isn't  hittia'  me  a  punch  in  the  stomach  just  to  put  me  in 
mind,  I'm  a  grasshopper.  It's  no  use,"  he  continued, 
addressing  his  unsatisfied  digestibles,  *•  you  may's  well  give 
over  grumblin'  and  touchin'  me  up  that  way ;  it's  no  fault 
of  mine,  it's  ould  Bui  worthy's,  bad  cess  to  him  ;  he  hadn't 

2 


26  DAN      duff's      WISH. 

any  change,  the  dirty  spalpeen,  you  won't  take  an  excuse 
won't  you  ?  then  I'll  have  to  fire  a  pipe  at  you.  Peg, 
jewil,  fill  us  a  dkiideen,  won't  you  ;  this  thievin'  hunger 
won't  stir  a  toe  unless  I  hunt  it  out  wid  tibaccy." 

Peggy  soon  filled  the  inevitable  pipe,  and  Dal  brought 
his  artillery  to  bear  upon  the  foe,  after  a  severe  round  of 
tremendous  puffs,  during  which  the  combatants  were 
enveloped  in  the  hot  smoke  of  battle  ;  the  enemy  showed 
evident  signs  of  beating  a  temporary  retreat.  Dan  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  prepared,  leisurely,  to  enjoy 
the  fruits  of  his  victory. 

"  I  wondher,"  said  he,  after  a  few  moments  of  great 
satisfaction,  "  I  wondher  how  ould  Bulworthy  would  like 
to  lunch  upon  smoke?  Be  jabers,  if  I  had  my  will,  I'd 
make  him  eat  three  males  a  day  of  it,  until  his  hard- 
hearted bowels  got  tenderer  towards  the  poor." 

"  Talk  of  the  what's-his-name,"  said  Peggy.  "  Here  he 
comes,  both  him  and  his  fine  madame,  as  proud  as  ten 
paycocks  ;  look  at  the  airs  of  them  ;  I  wonder  they  don't 
have  the  street  widened  when  they  condescend  to  walk 
out." 

''Peggy,  darlin',"  said  Dan,  "divil  take  me  if  I  havn't  a 
great  mind  to  let  out  at  him  for  my  shillin'." 

Sure  you  wouldn't ;  what,  in  the  open  street  ?  he'd  hang 
you,  Dan,  without  judge  or  jury." 

"  It  ain't  quite  so  easy  to  hang  a  man  as  it  used  to  be 
in  the  fine  ould  times,  Peg  o^amaa,"  said  Dan.  "  It's  mv 
shillin',  lie  has  no  right  to  keep  it  jingliu'  in  his  pocket, 
and    he  sha»i't,  neither,  if  I  can   help  it,"  he  continued. 


AND      WHAT      CAME      OF      IT.  27 

;^oing  towards  tlie  door,  "  Hit  or  miss,  here  goes  :  Hollo, 
Squire !"  adding,  sotto  voce,  "  you  murdherin'  Turk  in  top 
boots  ;  long  life  to  you — you  concated  ould  vagabone." 

These  expressions,  of  which  the  most  polite  alone 
reached  his  ear,  as  it  may  be  imagined,  grated  harshly 
upon  the  aristocratic  nerves  of  the  prodigious  Bulworthy, 
"  What's  that  fellow  making  such  a  magniloquent  hulLi- 
balloo  about,"  said  he,  grandly. 

"  Athin,  may-be  you'd  do  my  drawin'-room  the  honor 
of  a  sit  down,  yourself,  and  her  ladyship,"  said  Dan,  to  the 
dismay  of  poor  Peggy,  who  exclaimed  :  "Don't,  Dan,  don't ; 
I'm  ashamed  of  you,  indeed,  I  am ;"  adding,  apologetically, 
"  oh,  he  never  would  a  done  it,  only  for  the  drink ;  we're 
ruined  entirely." 

"  Bad  'cess  to  me  if  they're  not  coming,  sure  enough," 
said  Dan,  somewhat  tremulously,  but  determined  to  put  a 
good  bold  face  on  it,  he  continued,  as  they  entered,  "  come, 
Peg,  dust  the  chair  for  the  lady." 

Peg's  face  was  crimson  as  she  complied,  she  scarcely 
knew  how ;  Bulworthy's  countenance  indicated  the  state 
of  temper  with  which  he  accepted  the  proffered  hospitality, 
while  the  Squiress  gazed  coolly  and  patronizingly  around. 

"  I'm  in  a  tremendious  rage,"  said  he,  as  he  shook  his 
his  fist  at  Dan.  "How  dare  you  have  the  premeditated 
insurance  to  arrogate  us  into  your  pig-sty,  you  raga- 
muffin." 

"  Don't  worrit,  my  dear,"  interposed  Mrs.  Bulworthy, 
in  an  authoritative  tone.  "  It's  our  dooty,  now,  as  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  to  inquire  into  the  condition  of  the  poor, 


28  DAN     DUFFS     WISH; 

and  give  them  wholesome  advice.  Here,  my  dear,"  slie 
continued,  taking  sundry  tracts  from  her  capacious  pocket, 
"  read  these  comfortable  pages,  and  see  what  a  state  of 
awful  responsibility  you  are  in." 

"  Bedad,  that's  all  the  poor  people  is  likely  to  get  from 
such  visitors  as  you,"  said  Dan. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  Bulworthy,  with  an  imposing  frown, 
"  what  interrogational  imperence  do  you  want  to  address 
to  me,  that  you  have  the  owdaeiousness  to  drag  me  here  ?" 

Dan  simply  took  down  a  broken  piece  of  slate,  and  hold- 
ing it  up  before  the  Squire's  eyes,  "  a  thriflin'  account,  sir," 
said  he,  "  for  heel-piecin'  your  honor's  honorable  tops,  and 
maybe  they  don't  show  off  an  iligant  lump  of  a  leg,  this 
fine  spring  mornin',"  vainly  hoping  that  the  unmitigated 
flattery  would  mitigate  the  wrath  of  the  potent  Squire. 

"  And  was  it  for  this,  you — you  illiterate  colcssus  of  brass, 
that  you  detained  me  in  my  preambulations." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  timidly  interposed  Peggy,  "  I  hope  that 
you'll  forgive  him.  It  isn't  his  fault  entirely,  your  honor. 
It's  all  on  account  of  a  gintleman  that  he  axed  for  to  take 
a  bit  of  dinner  wid  him." 

"  What !"  screamed  Mrs.  Bulworthy,  with  her  sanctimo- 
nious eyes  elevated  to  the  true  Pharisaic  standard  ;  "  I  never 
heard  of  such  wretched  depravity.  Dinner!  do  such 
wretched  creatures  deal  in  so  miserable  an  extravagance  ? 
I  tremble  for  your  lost  condition.  Read  this ;"  and  she 
fumbled  in  her  pocket  for  another  comforting  document, 
which  Peggy  courtesied  humbly  as  she  received ;  "  read 
this,  and   learn   to   conquer  your  unworthy  appetites  for 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  29 

earthly  things."  The  Sqiiiress  was  a  fine  example  of  those 
theoretic  Lady  Bountifuls,  whose  province  it  is  to  feed  pov- 
erty with  such  like  unsatisfactory  viands. 

"  I'll  make  you  wait  for  your  shillin',  you  scoundrel," 
said  the  irate  Squire. 

"  And  serve  him  right,  too,"  echoed  his  worthy  spouse. 

-"  Then  we'll  have  to  wait  for  our  dinner,"  suggested 
Dan. 

"And  what's  that  to  us,  you  reprobalo  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothin',"  said  Dan.  "  Full  stomachs  thinks  there's 
no  empty  ones  in  the  world ;  but  may  bad  fortune  stuff 
them  top-boots  chock  full  of  corns,  for  your  hard-hearted- 
ness,  and  may  you  never  pull  them  oj.  without  gettin'  a 
fresh  stock." 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me,"  said  the  squeaking  tiact-distributer, 
"  read  this,  and  see  what  comes  of  such  irreligious  observ- 
ations." 

"Read  it  yourself,  ma'am,"  replied  Dan,  tosi^ng  back  the 
proffered  antidote,  "  maybe  you  may  want  it  ?w^  bad  as  any 
of  us." 

"  You  have  been  iniquitously  indulging  in  intoxicating 
beverages,  sir,"  said  Bulworthy. 

"A  drunkard!"  exclaimed  his  helpmate.  "1  have  a 
blessed  tract  or  two  peculiarly  adapted  to  that  abominable 
crime." 

"  Oh !  no,  no,  not  a  drunkard,"  cried  Peggy,  su^itching 
the  tract  from  the  hand  of  her  visitor ;  "  not  a  dru  ikurd. 
The  cares  of  poverty  force  him  to  try  and  forget  then*,^  ••  d 
himself  now  and  then,  but  that's  all." 


30  DAN     duff's     WISH, 

"  All !  that  all !  Oh,  for  the  sinfulness  that  surrounds 
us,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Have  jou  been  drinking,  sir  ?"  demanded  the  Squire,  in 
a  justice-of-peace  tone. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  ax  ?"  said  Dan,  boldly.  "  You 
owe  me  a  shillin' ;  that's  all  I  want." 

"  He  has  a  right,  depraved  creature  that  you  are,"  inter- 
posed the  meek  and  Christian-like  disseminator ;  "  rich 
people  always  have  a  right  to  ask  such  questions  of  their 
poorer  neighbors ;  but  you  don't  deserve  the  care  we  take 
of  your  unhappy  souls." 

"  Well,  then,  since  it  comes  to  that,"  said  Dan,  "  I  do 
taste  a  thritie  whiu  I  can  convayniently  lay  a  hould  of  it  ; 
and,  more  betoken,  it's  a  mighty  bad  rule  that  doesn't  work 
both  ways.  I  saw  a  lot  of  barrels  and  bottles  goin'  into 
the  fine  house  over  the  way.  I  wonder  if  they  wor  intended 
for  chimbly  ornaments  ?" 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  said  Bui  worthy,  now  supremely  indig- 
nant, "  let  us  leave  these  degenerations  individuals  to  their 
incoherent  reflections." 

"  I  want  my  shillin',"  shouted  Dan. 

"  You  shan't  have  it." 

*'  But  I'm  hungry,  and  so  is  Peggy,  and  Pincher,  and 
Pussy." 

"  Bead  this,  you  poor,  infatuated  sinner,"  said  Mrs.  B., 
handing  him  another  elegant  extract,  "and  it  will  teach 
you  to  be  contented  under  all  circumstances." 

"'  Will  it  turn  into  a  piece  of  bacon  ?"  inquired  Dan ; 
"for  if  it  won't  yez  may  curl  yur  hair  wid  it.     It's  all  verv 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  31 

well  for  you  barn-fed  gentry  to  be  crammin'  the  poor  wid 
bits  of  paper — giin  me  me  shillin'." 

The  Squire  said  not  a  word,  but  buttoned  his  pockets  up 
tightly,  while,  with  an  expression  of  the  most  intense  pity 
for  such  unparalleled  ignorance,  his  better  half  followed 
him  out  of  the  cabin. 

"  May  bitther  bad  luck  attend  yez  both,"  said  Dan,  as 
they  quitted  the  place.  "  The  dirty  dhrop's  in  yez,  and  it 
will  show  itself  in  spite  of  all  yer  money ;  hollo !  ain't  that 
the  babby  ?"  he  continued,  as  the  tiny  voice  of  a  child  was 
heard  proceeding  from  a  little  bit  of  a  room,  their  only 
other  apartment. 

"  Yes,  bless  his  bright  eyes,"  replied  Peggy,  oblivious' 
now  to  all  the  world  beside.  "  He's  awake  ;  look  at  his 
darlin'  little  face,  wid  the  laugh  comin'  all  over  it  like  a 
mealy  potato."  So  saying,  she  rushed  into  the  room,  and 
commenced  hugging  and  kissing  their  sole  treasure  in  a 
most  alarming  manner. 

"  Kiss  him  for  me.  Peg,"  cried  Dan.  "  Smother  the  vil- 
lain of  the  world  ;  ah,  ha !"  he  went  on,  "  there's  a  blessin' 
buld  top-boots  hasn't  got  any  way  ;  a  fine  lump  of  a  fella, 
wid  the  health  fairly  burstin'  out  of  his  murdherin'  cheeks ; 
as  fat  as  butther,  and  as  lively  as  a  tickled  kitten.  The 
Squire's  is  a  poor,  wizen-faced  leprechaun  of  a  creather, 
that  looks  as  if  he  was  born  forty  years  ould,  and  grew 
backwards  ever  sence.  Ha,  ha !  the  thoughts  of  that 
bright-eyed  schamer  puts  the  song  into  my  heart,  like  the 
risin'  sun  to  the  lark." 

But   soon   his  thoughts  took  a  more  desponding  turn. 


32  DAN    duff's    wish. 

"  Poor  little  gossoon,"  said  he,  "  when  I  think  that  there's 
nothin'  before  him  but  his  father's  luck  in  the  world,  to 
work,  and  pine,  and  toil,  until  his  back  is  bent  before  the 
ould  age  touches  it ;  it  drives  away  the  joy  as  quick  as  it 
came;  murdher  alive,  ain't  it  too  bad  to  think  that  ill- 
lookin'  Kippogue  over  the  way,  might  ate  goold  if  he  could 
only  disgist  it,  and  when  he  grows  up,  my  fine,  noble, 
blessed  boy  will  have  to  bow,  and  cringe,  and  touch  his 
hat  to  a  chap  wid  no  more  sowl  than  a  worn-out  shoe ; 
that's  what  puts  evil  thoughts  in'  my  head  ;  the  boy  that  I 
love,  aye !  almost  as  hard  as  if  I  was  the  mother  of  it^ 
instead  of  bein'  only  its  father ;  when  I  think  of  him  and 
what  may  be  before  him,  oh !  how  I  wish  that  I  stood  in 
ould  Bulworthy's  shoes,  or  his  '  tops,'  if  it  was  only  for  his 
sake.  Murdher !  how  sleepy  I  am  all  of  a  sudden t ;  is  it 
the  drink,  or  the  imptyness  ?  a  little  of  both,  may-be  ;  it 
ain't  often  I  have  a  chance  of  forgettin'  the  dirty  world 
for  a  thrifle  o'  time,  so  here  goes  to  have  a  snooze. 

So  saying,  Dan  settled  himself  to  take  a  mid-day  nap, 
for  the  lack  of  better  employment;  but  he  had  scarcely 
dropped  his  head  on  his  breast  for  that  purpose  when  he 
became  aware  of  a  sinofular  rino-inor  sensation  in  his  ears, 
which  increased  until  he  fancied  he  heard  a  sound,  loud 
and  sonorous  as  the  tolling  of  the  church-clock  ;  at  last 
there  came  one  bang,  so  startling  that  he  jumped  up  sud- 
denly from  his  chair :  "  The  Saints  between  us  and  all 
harum :  who's  that  ?"  he  cried,  in  a  terrible  fright ;  but  he 
could  see  nothing ;  the  sounds  w^ere  also  gone ;  a  dead 
silence  was  around  him,  and  he  must  have  slept  for  some 


AND      W  JI  A  T      CAME      OF     IT.  33 

time,  it  appeared,  for  the  shadows  of  evening  were  dark- 
ening the  small  window.  Moodily  he  leant  his  head  upon 
his  hands  and  gazed  into  the  small  fire-place ;  a  few  sods 
of  turf  were  burning  on  the  hearth  ;  as  he  looked  fixedly 
upon  the  waning  embers,  he  perceived  that  from  either 
end  of  one  of  the  sods,  a  thin,  white  smoke  lazily  curled 
up  the  chimney,  gradually  increasing  in  volume  and 
density ;  while  he  was  vainly  wondering  how  so  small  a 
piece  of  turf  could  send  out  so  great  an  amount  of  vapor, 
to  his  still  greater  surprise,  he  saw  the  spiral  columns 
advance  towards  him,  and  gather  upon  each  side — slowly 
they  gathered — and  mounted  in  eddying  clouds,  until  they 
reached  to  a  level  -with  his  head ;  there  they  ceased,  as 
though  imprisoned  in  an  invisible  medium,  and  commenced 
wreathing  and  interwreathing,  up  and  down,  in  beautiful 
vapory  combinations ;  silently  he  contemplated  the  extraor- 
dinary phenomenon,  in  a  state  of  extreme  bewilderment, 
but  yet  without  the  slightest  sensation  of  the  dread  which 
should  accompany  so  singular  a  spectacle,  and  it  was  with 
more  admiration  than  awe  he  became  aware  that  the 
smoky  pillars  beside  him  were  gradually  moulding  them- 
selves into  the  most  exquisite  human  forms;  at  length 
they  stood  before  him  defined  and  perfect — two  female 
appearances  of  transcendent  loveliness ;  one  fair  as  a  sun- 
beam, the  other  dark,  but  each  supreme  in  its  individual 
type  of  beauty.  Gentleness  and  heavenly  love  beamed  in 
the  mild,  blue  eyes  of  the  one,  glittering  boldness  flashed 
from  the  coal-black  orbs  of  the  other :  a  shower  of  deli- 
cate golden  hair,  soft  and  jdelding  as  silken  fibres,  shed  a 

2* 


34  DAN      DUFFS      \V-I5H, 

bright  radiance  like  a  halo  around  the  saintlv  lineaments  of 
the  fairer  spirit,  while  massv  closters  of  raven  hae,  through 
which  a  warm,  parple  tint  was  interwoven,  gkncing;  in  tbe 
I i  _'':.:,  like  threads  of  fire,  enriched  the  ample  brow,  and 
suci.L  down  the  full  form  of  the  darker  one.  "*!  wonder 
if  it*s  alif e  thev  are,"  thought  Dan,  as  he  gazed  alternately 
at  each.  "I'll  be  upon  me  oath  I  dunno  which  is  the 
puniest  of  the  two ;  the  yalla-headed  one  looks  as  if  she 
could  coax  the  very  heart  out  through  me  ribs;  but,  oh! 
murdher  alive  I  the  lightnin'  that  darts  from  them  black 
eyes  is  enough  to  strike  a  fella  foolish  at  onst ;  bad  luck 
to  me  if  I  don't  spake  to  them ;"  so  saying,  our  ftiend 
made  one  of  his  best  bows,  tugging  the  conventional  lock 
left  for  that  purpose.  ''Your  sarvant,  ladies,"  said  he, 
"  and  what  might  it  be  that  brings  yez  out  so  airly  this 
cowld  momin'." 

The  fairer  apparition,  in  a  voice  like  spoken  melody, 
answered :  "  I  am  the  spirit  of  your  better  thoughts." 

••  You  dont  tell  me  that,  Miss,  then  it's  glad  that  I  am 
to  see  you  to  the  fore,  and  mighty  sorry  tliait  I  haven't  goi; 
a  sate  dacent  enouo^h  to  offer  to  the  likes  of  such  an 
iligant  creather,"  said  Dan,  "  and  who's  your  frind,  may  I 
ax  r  he  went  on,  turning  to  the  darker  beauty. 

**!  am  the  spirit  of  your  evil  thoughts,"  replied  the 
other,  in  a  rich,  full  tone,  bending  her  lustrous  eyes  upon 
the  questioner  in  a  way  that  made  his  heart  bound. 

**  Oh  I  you  are,  are  you,"  he  gasped  out ;  *^  faix,  and  I 
don't  know,  if  it's  welcome  you  ought  to  be,  or  not ;  but, 
for  the  sake  of  good  manners,  Fd  ax  you  to  sit  too,  av  I 
had  the  c«xivavnienoe." 


AND      WHAT      CAME      OF      IT.  35 

"You  called  upon  us  both,  just  now,"  said  the  good 
spirit. 

"  And  we  are  here,"  continued  the  other ;  "  so  choose 
between  us,  which  you  will  entertain." 

"  Couldn't  1  be  on  the  safe  side,  and  entertain  the  both 
of  yez  ?"  suggested  Dan,  with  a  propitiatory  wink  to 
each. 

"That  is  impossible,"  replied  the  good  spirit.  "We 
only  meet  when  there's  contention  in  a  mortal  mind 
whether  he  shall  the  right  or  wrong  pursue.  Did  you  not 
wish  but  now  that  you  could  change  conditions  with  the 
rich  man  opposite  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  I  may's  well  let  the  whole  truth  out,  seein' 
that  you're  likely  to  know  all  about  it ;  I  did  wish  some- 
thin'  of  the  sort." 

"  And  a  very  reasonable  wish  it  was,"  said  the  dark 
spirit,  on  his  left. 

"  A  very  foolish  wish,"  firmly  observed  the  fair  one. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  replied  the  other. 

"  You  never  do,"  said  the  good  spirit. 

"  Nor  ever  will !" 

"  I  don't  lose  much  by  that " 

"Ladies,  darlin',"  interposed  Dan,  "I'd  rayther  you 
wouldn't  disthress  yerselves  on  my  account." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  fair  spirit. 
"  We  never  can  agree ;  but,  how  do  you  resolve  ?  Is  it 
Btill  your  wish  to  stand  in  the  Squire's  shoes  ?" 

"  Top-boots  ?"  suggested  Dan. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  replied  the  evil  spirit  for  him.    "  Who 


36  DAN      DTFF's      WISH, 

would  not  have  such  wish,  to  pass  his  days  in  hixury  and 
ease,  not  labor — pinched,  in  care  and  penury  ?" 

"  Thrue  for  you,"  observed  Dan,  approvingly. 

"But  who  would  give  up  even  a  small  share  of  joy,  con- 
tentment, and  domestic  love,  to  seek,  perchance,  for  more, 
perchance,  for  less  ?"  replied  the  other. 

"  There's  rayson  in  that,"  said  Dan. 

"  Aye,  but  the  boy,"  said  his  left-hand  companion  ;  "  see 
wliat  a  glorious  life  the  heir  to  such  a  wealthy  man  would 
lead." 

"  That  sets  me  heart  bubblin'  like  a  bilin'  pot,"  cried 
Dan,  joyously. 

"  You  are  resolved,  then,  to  be  ruled  by  me  ?"  demanded 
the  suggester  of  evil  thoughts. 

"Indeed,  and  I  am,  that  I  am,  just  for  the  sake  of  the 
babby,"  said  Dan. 

"Follow,  and  I  will  point  out  a  way,"  said  the  dark 
spirit,  gliding  towards  the  door.  Dan  made  a  movement 
to  follow,  when  his  footsteps  were  arrested  by  a  chorus  of 
invisible  voices,  small,  but  distinct,  and  musical  as  a  choir 
of  singing  birds,  that  appeared  to  sound  within  his  very 
brain,  so  that  he  heard  every  word  as  clearly  as  though  he 
"had  uttered  it  himself. 

Every  mortal  has  his  grief: 

Each  one  thinks  that  his  is  chief. 

Better  keep  your  present  lot, 

Than  to  tempt — you  don't  know  what. 

Irresolution  made  him  falter  on  the  threshold  through 
which  the  spirit  of  evil  thoughts  had  just  passed ;    it  was 


AND      WHAT      CAME      OF      IT.  37 

but  for  an  instant,  however,  for  the  same  tiny  voices  sang 
within  his  heart  the  blessings  and  the  joys  of  wealth,  and, 
above  all,  the  image  of  his  darling  child,  made  happy  in 
its  possession. 

"  Ilere  goes,"  said  he.  "  The  divil  a  pin's  point  does  it 
matther  what  comes  of  me,  so  that  luck  lays  a  howld  of 
the  little  gossoon."  So  saying,  he  followed  the  dark  spirit, 
while  the  other  bowed  its  lovely  head  upon  its  breast,  and 
shedding  tears  of  anguish  for  the  tempted  one,  whose  weak- 
ness she  had  not  the  power  to  strengthen,  slowly  and  pen- 
sively came  after,  resolved  not  to  abandon  her  charge  while 
there  was  yet  a  hope  to  save. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Our  selfish  pleasures  multiply  amain, 
But  then  their  countless  progeny  ia  pain. 

We  left  the  great  Squire  Bulworthy,  preparing  to  aston- 
ish the  neighborhood,  which  he  assuredly  succeeded  in 
doing,  but  not  in  a  style  at  all  creditable  or  satisfactory  to 
himself. 

It  would  appear,  indeed,  as  though  the  hearty,  but 
uncharitable  wish  of  the  irritated  cobbler,  was  curiously 
prophetic,  for,  before  the  purse-proud  couple  had  achieved 
the  half  of  their  accustomed  promenade,  Mr.  Bulworthy'a 
extremities  were  suddenly  and  unceremoniously  fastened 


38 


upon  bv  an  unusually  severe  gripe  of  that  enemy  to  active 
exercise — the  gout.  So  sharp  was  the  pain,  that  the  Squire 
roared  out  right  lustily,  and  executed  such  a  variety  of 
absurd  contortions  that  he  became  an  object  of  intense 
amusement,  rather  than  sympathy,  to  the  vagabond  portion 
of  the  neighborhood. 

There  being  no  such  extemporaneous  means  of  transit  as 
hacks,  or  "hansoms,"  attainable,  there'  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  suffer ;  so,  leaning  heavily  upon  a  couple  of  stray 
Samaritans,  whose  commiseration  was  warmly  stimulated 
by  the  promised  shilling,  he  managed,  by  slow  and  agoni- 
zing efforts,  to  shuffle  home,  attended  by  his  silent  and 
unsympathizing  spouse. 

After  having  undergone  the  excruciating  process  of 
unbooting — an  operation  whose  exquisite  sensations  are 
known  only  to  the  initiated — he  screamed  for  his  universal 
panacea,  whisky-punch.  The  materials  were  brought  in  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time,  for  Bui  worthy  was  murder- 
ous in  his  gouty  spells.  Half  a  dozen  stiff  tumblers  were 
disposed  of  with  Hibernian  celerity,  and  the  hurried  house- 
hold began  to  congratulate  itself  upon  a  prospect  of  quiet. 
Vain  hope !  "  dingle,  dingle,  ding !"  went  the  big  bell  at 
the  Squire's  elbow.  Up  started,,  simultaneously,  Barney 
and  Mary  from  the  dish  of  comfort  they  were  laying  them- 
selves out  to  indulge  in  down  stairs — in  their  eagerness, 
tumbling  into  each  others  arms.  Barney  rushed  up  the 
stairway,  while  Mary  listened — as  Marys  always  do,  when 
there's  anything  interesting  going  on — receiving,  however, 
in  this  instance,  ample  reward  for  such  a  breach  of  good 


A:S  D      ^V  JI  A  T      C  A  M  E      OF      IT.  39 

manners,  being  nearly  prostrated  by  a  book  flung  at  Bar- 
ney's head,  to  hasten  his  exit,  by  the  suffering  Squire. 
What  the  missile  had  only  half  done,  Barney  finished  ;  for, 
taking  the  kitchen-stairs  at  a  slide,  he  came  plump  against 
the  partially-stunned  listener,  and  down  they  both  rolled 
comfortably  to  the  bottom.  However,  as  there  were  no 
bones  broken,  the  only  damage  being  what  Mary  called,  "  a 
dent  in  her  head,"  they  soon  picked  themselves  up  again. 

"  Well,"  says  Mary,  ''  how  is  he  now  r 

"  Oh,  murdher  alive,  don't  ax  me,"  replied  Barney,  rub- 
bing his  bruises,  "it's  my  belief  that  there  never  was  sich 
a  cantankerous  ould  chicken  sence  the  world  was  hatched. 
It's  a  composin'  draft  that  he's  schreechin'  for  now,  as  av  a 
galHon  of  punch,  strong  enough  to  slide  on,  wasn't  com- 
posin'." 

In  due  time,  he  had  his  "composin'  draft,"  which,  as 
it  contained  a  pretty  considerable  dose  of  laudanum,  suf- 
ficed, together  with  his  other  potations,  to  lull  the  pain 
somewhat,'  and  give  him  comparative  quiet ;  this  was  a 
famous  opportunity  for  Mrs.  Bulworthy,  who  immediately 
proceeded  to  "  improve  "  it. 

"  Now,  Pether,  dear,"  said  she,  with  an  attempt  to  modu- 
late her  saw-cutting  voice  into  something  approaching  to 
tenderness,  which  was  a  failure.  "  Oh  !  think  upon  the 
situation  of  your  soul,  and  look  over  one  of  these  comfort- 
ing works." 

Peter  groaned  inwardly,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Grace,"  she  went  on,  "  is  never  denied,  even  to  the 
most  hardenedest  sinner." 


4:0  DAN     duff's     WISH, 

Peter  threw  his  head  back  and  closed  his  eyes,  in  the 
forlorn  hope  that  she  would  respect  his  simulated  slum- 
ber ;  but  she  was  not  a  woman  to  respect  anything,  when 
her  "  vocation  "  was  strong  on  her. 

"  It's  criminal  in  you,  Peter,"  she  shouted,  "  to  neglect 
your  spiritual  state ;  suppose  you  were  to  die,  and  it's  my 
belief  vou  will,  for  you're  looking  dreadful,  what  a  misery 
it  would  be  to  me;  I'd  never  forgive  myself;  oh  !  Pether, 
Pether,  do  read  this  true  and  beautiful  description  of  the 
place  of  torment  you're  a  blindly  plunging  your  sowl  into." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  already  tortured  sinner. 
"  Get  out !"  he  roared.  "  Don't  bother  ;  there's  a  time  for 
all  things,  you  indiscreet  and  unnatural  apostle  of  discom- 
fortableness,  what  do  you  worry  me  for  now,  when  you  see 
me  enjoyin'  such  a  multiplication  of  bodily  suflFerings  ?" 

*"  Because,"  said  she,  coolly  ;  "  it's  the  only  time  that  I 
can  hope  to  make  an  impression  upon  your  hardened 
heart ;  it's  my  duty,  not  only  as  your  wife,  but  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  society  for  the  evangelizing  the  home  heathen ; 
of  which  heathen,  my  dear,  I  have  the  word  of  my  pious 
associates,  you  are  an  outrageous  example ;  therefore,  it  is 
my  mission  to  do  all  I  can  to  bring  about  your  regeneration." 

"  Murdher,  murdher !  if  I  could  only  use  my  feet," 
groaned  Bulworthy,  with  the  suppressed  anger  boiling  in 
his  face. 

"Ah  ?  but  you  can't,"  repHed  the  home  comfort,  as  she 
quietly  removed  everything  portable  from  within  the  reach 
of  the  suflferer's  arm,  and  settling  herself  in  rigid  implaca- 
bility, prepared  to  do  battle  with  the  evil  one. 


AND     WHAT      CAME      OF      IT.  41 

"  Since  you  won't  use  your  bodily  senses  for  your  soul's 
advantage"  said  she,  solemnly,  " I  will,  myself,  peruse  these 
pages  of  admonition." 

Now,  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  but  that  the  work  Mrs. 
Bulworthy  prepared  to  read,  was  an  excellent  one,  writ- 
ten by  an  excellent  person,  and  distributed  for  a  most 
excellent  purpose ;  but,  to  say  the  least,  it  was  very  inju- 
dicious in  the  absorbingly-pious  lady  to  exhibit  so  much 
concern  for  the  immortal  part  of  poor  Bulworthy,  alto- 
gether overlooking  the  mortal  anguish  he  was  at  the 
present  moment  enduring. 

At  all  events,  he  thought  so,  for,  what  with  the  pain  and 
the  rage,  he  commenced  a  series  of  bellowings,  in  the 
expectation  that  his  other  tormentor  would  be  recalled  to 
the  necessity  of  directing  her  mind  from  the  future,  to  the 
suflFering  before  her ;  but,  no,  not  a  bit  of  it ;  the  louder 
he  roared,  the  shriller  she  read,  being  a  contest,  as  she 
imagined,  between  the  fierce  obstinacy  of  the  demon 
within  him,  and  the  efiicacy  of  her  ministration  ;  on  she 
went,  inflexibly,  in  the  prolonged  cadence  of  the  conventicle, 
never  ceasing  or  averting  her  strong  eye  from  the  tract, 
until  she  had  finished  its  perusal.  Not  a  word  of  it  did  he, 
would  he  hear,  for,  with  yelling  occasionally,  and  stopping 
his  ears  at  intervals,  the  blessed  communication  might 
have  been  written  in  its  original  Sanscrit,  for  all  the  good 
it  did  him. 

However,  she  had  done  her  duty,  and  was  satisfied. 
"  Temper,  temper,  Pether,"  she  ejaculated,  as  he  heaved  a 
groan  of  impatience  from  one  of  the  twinges.     "Suffer 


42  DAN    duff's    wish, 

patiently ;  it  is  good  for  the  flesh  to  be  mortified  ;  think  of 
the  worse  that  is  to  come." 

"  Oh !  you're  a  comforter  if  ever  there  was  one,"  sighed 
the  Squire.  "How  the  mischief  can  I  be  patient  with  a 
coal  of  fire  on  every  toe  of  me  ?  It's  mighty  aisy  for  thim 
that  doesn't  feel  it  to  keep  gabblin'  about  patience.  I'll 
roar  if  I  like ;  it  does  me  good  to  swear  at  the  murdherin* 
thing,  and  I  will,  too." 

Whereupon,  he  let  fly  a  volley  of  epithets,  not  the  very 
choicest  in  the  vernacular,  which  had  at  least  one  good 
eSect,  for  it  sent  the  domestic  missionary  flying  oui  of  the 
room,  tracts  and  all,  utterly  horrified  at  the  outburst  of 
impiety  ;  he  firing  a  parting  shot  or  two  after  her,  loaded 
with  purely  personal  charges  of  not  over  complimentary 
character. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  his  opposite  neighbor, 
the  poor  cobbler,  having  arrived  at  the  most  comforting- 
part  of  his  reflections,  was  indulging  in  one  of  his  jolliest 
songs,  the  merry  sound  of  which  penetrated  to  the  apart- 
ment of  the  suff'ering  rich  man,  filling  his  heart  with 
envy. 

"  Listen  to  that,"  he  grunted,  swaying  backward  and 
forward  from  the  intensity  of  the  pain.  "  AVhat's  the  use 
av  all  my  money  ;  there's  that  blaggard  cobbler,  without  a 
rap  to  Hess  himself  with,  and  the  song's  never  out  of  his 
vagabone  throat ;  oh,  murdher  !  if  I  wouldn't  give  every 
shillin'  that  I'm  worth  in  the  world  to  change  conditions 
with  the  chirpin'  schemer." 

In  a  short  time,  however,  the  composing  drafts,  spirituous 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  43 

and  otherwise,  began  to  do  their  work ;  a  drowsy  sensa- 
tion crept  over  him,  and  he  dropped  into  an  unquiet 
slumber. 

When  he  awoke  again,  which  was  instantly,  as  he 
thouo-ht,  what  was  his  surprise  to  behold  an  extraordinary- 
looking  sprite  riding  upon  his  worst  foot.  The  thing  was 
dressed  like  a  jockey,  cap,  jacket,  breeches,  and  boots,  the 
latter  being  furnished  with  a  pair  of  needles  instead  of 
spurs  ;  but  with  such  a  comical  face  that  Bulworthy  would 
have  laughed  heartily  at  its  funny  expression,  except  that 
the  sight  of  those  ominous  goads  effectually  checked  all 
thoughts  of  risibility. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you  ?  Get  off  o'  my  toe,  you  impu- 
dent little  scoundrel,"  said  the  Squire,  "  or  I'll  fling  a  pill- 
box at  you." 

"  Bless  you,  that  would  be  no  use,"  pipejd  the  diminutive 
jock,  settling  himself  in  his  saddle. 

"  Move,  I  say,  or  bang  goes  this  bottle  of  doctor's  stuflf 
right  in  yer  eye." 

"  Fire  away,"  says  the  imp,  with  a  little  bit  of  a  laugh, 
like  the  squeak  of  a  mouse,  "  I  don't  fear  any  of  your  doc- 
tor's bedevilment." 

"  What  brings  you  herej  anyway  ?"  demanded  Bulwor- 
thy. He  was  now  out  of  pain,  and  consequently  waxing 
arrogant. 

"  You,"  squeaked  the  little  rider. 

"  It's  a  lie.     I  never  invited  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  did,  and  moreover,  I  must  say,  treated  me 
like  a  prince;  boarded  and  lodged  me  gloriously." 


44  DAN    duff'b    wish, 

"  Pooh  !  you're  a  fool.     Where  did  I  lodge  you  ?" 

"  Here,  in  your  foot,"  said  the  little  devil,  with  a  grin, 
accompanying  the  observation  with  the  slightest  touch  of 
the  needle ;  enough,  however,  to  extort  a  yell  from  the 
Squire.  "  What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  hero  ?"  tl>e 
jockey  continued.  "  It  will  be  better  for  you  to  keep  a 
civil  tongue  in  that  foolish  head  of  yours." 

"  Oh,  I  will !  I  will !"  groaned  Bulworthy.  "  If  you'll 
only  obleege  me  by  dismountin',  I'll  promise  anything." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that's  mighty  likely,"  said  the  imp,  "  after 
being  asked  here  to  amuse  myself.  A  pretty  sort  of  a  host 
you  are." 

"  If  you'll  believe  me,  there's  some  mistake,  sir,  indeed 
there  is,"  said  Bulworthy,  apologetically,  "  I  don't  remem- 
ber ever  havin'  had  the  honor  of  your  acquaintance." 

"  You  don't,  don't  you ;  then,  here  goes,  to  put  you  in 
mind,  }ou  forgetful  old  savage;"  with  that,  he  commenced 
a  series  of  equestrian  manoeuvres  with  the  Squire's  intract- 
able toe,  now  sawing  with  the  diminutive  chifney  bit,  now 
tickling  the  sides  with  a  slender,  but  very  cutting  kind  of  a 
whip,  finishing  up  his  exercises  by  plunging  both  spars  into 
the  flesh,  making  the  tortured  limb  jump  like  a  Galway 
hunter  over  a  stone  wall. 

"  Stop  !  stop  !"  roared  the  sufferer,  while  the  perspira- 
tion rained  from  his  forehead  like  a  shower-bath. 

"  You  know  me  now,  do  you,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  gasped  the  Squire.  "  I'll  never  forget  you 
again — never,  never  !" 

"  Will  you  be  civil  ?" — a  shght  touch  of  the  needle. 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  45 

"  Oh,  murdher  !  yes." 

"  And  temperate  ?" — another  small  puncture. 

"  I  will,  I  will." 

"Very  well,  then.  I'll  not  only  dismount,  as  I'm  a  little 
tired,  but  I'll  give  you  a  word  or  two  of  good  -advice." 
So  saying,  the  little  jockey  got  out  of  his  seat,  put  his  sad- 
dle on  his  shoulders,  and  having  with  great  diflBculty  clam- 
bered up  the  flannel  precipice  of  Bulworthy's  leg,  managed, 
with  the  assistance  of  his  waistcoat  buttons,  to  mount  upon 
the  table,  where,  sitting  down  upon  a  pill-box,  he  crossed 
his  legs,  and  leisurely  switching  his  top-boots,  regarded  the 
Squire  with  a  look  of  intense  cunning. 

"Well,  only  to  think,"  said  Bui  worthy  to  himself,  "that 
such  a  weeny  thing  as  that  could  give  a  man  such  a  heap 
of  oneasiness ;  a  fella  that  I  could  smash  with  my  fist  as  I 
•would  a  fly :  may  I  never  get  up  from  this  if  I  don't  do  it, 
and  then  may-be  I'll  get  rid  of  the  murdherin'  torment 
altogether." 

With  that,  he  suddenly  brought  his  great  hand  down  on 
the  table  with  a  bang  that,  as  he  supposed,  exterminated 
jockey,  pill-box,  and  all. 

"Ha,  ha!"  he  roared,  "  there's  an  end  to  you,  my  fine 
fella." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  squealed  the  little  ruflSan  ;  "  w^hat  do 
you  say  to  this  ?"  he  continued,  as  he  flourished  one  of  the 
top-boots  over  his  head,  and  buried  the  spur  through  the 
Squire's  finger,  fastening  it  firmly  to  the  table.  "  See  what 
you  got  for  your  wicked  intentions,  and  that  ain't  the 
worst  of  it  neither,  for  I'm  going  to  serve  that  elegant  big 


4:6  danduff'swish, 

thumb  of  yours  the  same  way.  But  I'll  take  my  time 
about  it,  for  there's  no  fear  of  your  hands  ever  stirring 
from  that  spot  until  I  like."  So  saying,  the  tantalizing 
fiend  made  Foveral  fierce  attempts  to  transfix  the  doomed 
member,  each  time  just  grazing  the  skin  with  the  sharp 
needle.  At  last  he  drove  it  right  up  to  the  heel,  and  there 
the  two  boots  stuck,  while  the  little  blackguard  danced  the 
"Foxhunter's  jig,"  in  his  stocking-feet,  cutting  pigeon- 
wings  among  the  pill-boxes,  like  a  professor. 

Bulworthy  now  roared  louder  than  ever,  vainly  endeav- 
oring to  free  his  tortured  hand  from  its  strange  imprison- 
ment, and  the  more  he  roared,  the  more  his  tormentor 
grinned,  and  cut  capers  about  the  table. 

"  Oh,  pull  out  them  thunderin'  spurs,"  cried  he,  in  agony. 
"  This  is  worse  than  all ;  mercy,  mercy !  Misther  jockey, 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  what  I  did ;  it  was  the  drink  ;  there's 
whisky  in  me." 

"  I  know  that  well  enough,"  chirped  the  grinning  imp. 
"  If  there  wasn't,  I  couldn't  have  the  power  over  you  that 
you  see." 

"  Oh,  won't  you  look  over  it  this  oncet  ?  I'll  be  on  me 
Bible  oaih  I  won't  oftend  you  again." 

**  Are  yon  in  earnest  this  time  ?" 

"  Bad  luck  attend  me  if  I'm  not." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  trust  you,  though  you  don't  deserve  it," 
replied  the  little  schemer,  and,  after  two  or  three  tugs,  he 
succeeded  in  pulling  out  one  of  the  spurs.  "  Do  you  feel 
easier  ?"  inquired  he,  with  a  grin. 

*'  It'5  like  getting  half-way  out  of  -purgatory,"  said  thi 


AND      WHAT      CAME      OF     IT.  47 

Squire,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  There's  a  fine  fella,  lug  out 
the  other,  won't  you  ?" 

"  I  must  make  some  conditions  first." 

"  Let  them  be  short,  for  gracious  sake !" 

"First  and  foremost,  are  you  going  to  be  quiet  and 
reasonable  ?" 

« I  am,  I  am!" 

"  Secondly,  are  you  going  to  pay  me  for  the  trouble  I've 
had?" 

"  Whatever  you  ask,  only  be  quick  about  it." 

"  It  won't  tax  you  much,  you  have  only  to  make  over  to 
rae  all  the  bottles  and  jars  you  have  in  the  house." 

"  Take  them,  and  welcome." 

"If  you'll  promise  me  not  to  meddle  with  them,  I'll 
leave  them  in  your  keeping,  only  they're  mine,  remember." 

"  Every  drop,"  cried  the  Squire,  eagerly.  "  I  won't 
touch  another  mouthful." 

"  That's  all  right ;  you  keep  your  word  and  I'll  keep 
mine ;  there,  you  may  have  the  use  of  your  fist  once 
more,"  he  continued,  as  he  plucked  out  the  other  spur, 
giving  the  released  hand  a  parting  kick  that  thrilled 
through  every  joint. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  as  he  pulled  on  his  tiny  boots,  "  1 
have  a  word  or  two  more  to  say  to  you ;  you  made  a 
foolish  wish  just  now ;  that  you'd  like  to  change  places 
with  that  miserable  cobbler  over  the  way ;  are  you  still  of 
the  same  way  of  thinking?" 

"  Should  I  have  your  companionship  there,"  inquired 
Bulworthv. 


48  DAN    duff's    wish, 

*•  Certainly  not;  he  couldn't  afford  to  keep  me,"  replied 
the  gout-fiend,  contemptuously. 

"  Then,  without  meanin'  the  slightest  offence  to  you,  my 
little  friend,"  said  the  other,  "it  wouldn't  grieve  me  much 
to  i^et  rid  of  your  acquaintance  at  any  sacrifice,  even  to 
the  disfust  of  walking  into  that  rascally  cobbler's  shoes. 
I'm  only  afraid  that,  clever  as  you  are,  you  can't  manage 
that  for  me." 

"  Don't  be  quite  so  sure,"  replied  the  little  jockey,  with 
a  knowing  wink,  amusing  himself  by  every  now  and  then 
tickling  up  Bulworthy's  fingers  with  hie  sharp  whip,  every 
stroke  of  which  seemed  to  cut  him  to  the  marrow.  "  Who 
can  tell  but  that  the  poor,  ignorant  devil  would  like  to 
change  places  with  you  ;  if  so,  I  can  do  the  job  for  ye 
both  in  a  jiffey:  more,  betoken,  here  he  comes,  so  that  we 
can  settle  the  affair  at  once." 

At  that  instant,  the  door  of  Bulworthy's  apartment  flew 
open,  as  from  the  effect  of  a  sudden  and  strong  gust  of 
wmd,  while  he,  although  seeing  nothing,  distinctly  heard 
a  slight  rustling,  and  felt  that  peculiar  sensation  one 
receives  at  the  entrance  of  persons  into  a  room  while  not 
looking  in  their  direction. 

"  I  see  no  one,"  said  the  Squire  ;  "  'twas  but  a  blast  of 
wind." 

"  /  do,"  curtly  rep^^ed  the  little  jockey,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  hold  an  interestiLg  confidential  chat  with  the 
invisibilities ;  in  a  few  moments,  Bulworthy  distinguished 
the  jolly  voice  of  Dan,  the  cobbler,  a  little  jollier  than 
usual ;  indicating  the  high  state  of  his  spiritual  tempera- 


AND      WHAT      CAME      OF      IT.  49 


ment  also,  by  swaying  to  and  fro  against  the  balusters, 
making  them  creak  loudly  in  his  uncertain  progress ;  at 
last,  with  a  tipsy  "  God  save  all  here,"  he  lumbered  into 
the  room,  tried  to  clutch  at  a  chair,  but,  optically  miscalcu- 
lating his  distance,  overshot  the  mark,  and  tumbled  head- 
long upon  the  floor. 

"  You  dirty,  drunken  rapscallion,"  cried  Bulworthy,  get- 
ting into  a  towering  rage,  from  which,  however,  he  was 
quickly  recalled  by  a  wicked  look  from  the  imp,  and  a 
threatening  movement  towards  the  dreaded  top-boots  and 
spurs. 

"  Listen,  and  say  nothing  until  you  are  spoken  to,"  said 
the  little  chap,  as  grand  as  you  please. 

"  Not  a  word,"  replied  the  cowed  Squire. 

"Now,  Daniel,  my  friend,  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with 
you."  The  Squire  started  with  astonishment;  he  could 
have  sworn  that  he  heard  his  own  voice ;  but  the  big 
sounds  proceeded  from  the  lips  of  the  little  chap  on  the 
table  beside  him. 

"  Wid  all  the  veins  of  my  heart.  Squire,  jewel,"  replied 
Dan's  voice,  though  Dan's  mouth  never  opened  at  all,  and 
Bulworthy  was  looking  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"  You  are  not  satisfied  with  your  condition  in  life,"  con- 
tinued the  voice. 

"  You  never  spoke  a  truer  word  nor  that,"  replied  Dan's 
invisible  proxy. 

"  Neither  am  I." 

"  More  fool  you." 

"  Would  you  change  places  with  me  ?" 
3 


50  DAN    duff's    wish, 

"  Indeed,  an'  I  would  if  I  had  the  chance ;  how  would 
you  like  to  be  in  mine  ?" 

"  It's  just  what  I  long  for." 

Thus  far,  the  conversation  was  carried  on  in  the  voices 
of  the  Squire  and  the  cobbler ;  but  now  they  were  both 
amazed  at  hearing  bellowed  out,  in  sounds  like  the  roar  of 
a  cataract  when  you  stop  your  ears  occasionally  : 

"  Blind  and  dissatisfied  mortals,  have  your  desire  ;  let 
each  take  the  shape  and  fill  the  station  of  the  other,  never 
to  obtain  your  original  form  and  condition  until  both  are 
as  united  in  the  wish  to  return  thereto  as  you  are  now  to 
quit  them." 

A  terrific  thunderclap  burst  overhead,  stunning  them 
both  for  a  few  minutes,  and,  when  its  last  reverberation 
died  away  in  the  distance,  the  little  jockey  had  disappeared, 
all  supernatural  sounds  had  ceased.  The  sentient  part  of 
the  discontented  Squire  found  itself  inhabiting  the  mortal 
form  of  the  cobbler,  prone  on  the  floor,  hopelessly  and 
helplessly  drunk,  while  the  unhappy  Dan  appeared  in  the 
portly  form,  and  siifiered  the  gouty  pangs  of  the  lich  Mr. 
Bulworthy. 


AND     WHAT     CAMEOFIT  51 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  Oft  do  we  enyy  those  whose  lot,  if  known, 
Would  prove  to  be  less  kindly  than  our  own." 

The  change  accomplished  by  the  embodied  wishes  of 
the  two  discontented  mortals  was,  to  all  appearance,  per- 
fect. They  bore,  indeed,  the  outward  semblance  each  of 
the  other,  but  yet  retained  their  own  individual  thoughts, 
feelings,  and  inclinations;  and  manifold,  as  may  be  ima- 
gined, were  the  embarrassments  and  annoyances  conse- 
quent upon  this  strange  duality,  to  the  great  mystification 
of  their  respective  households. 

The  morning  after  the  singular  compact  was  made,  the 
more  than  usually  outrageous  conduct  of  the  -supposed 
Bulworthy  placed  the  establishment  in  the  greatest  possi- 
ble uproar,  for  the  nerves  and  sinews  of  the  imprisoned 
Dan,  wholly  unacquainted,  ere  this,  with  any  ailment  other 
than  the  emptiness  of  hunger,  or  the  occasional  headache 
whisky  purchased,  now  twisted  and  stretched  with  the 
sharper  agonies  laid  up  by  his  predecessor,  lashed  him  into 
an  absolute  hurricane  of  fury.  Unable  to  move  his  nether 
extremities,  he  gnashed  his  teeth,  venting  his  rage  by 
smashing  everything  that  he  could  reach. 

This  terrible  turmoil  reached  the  ears  of  the  domestics, 
filling  them  with  apprehension. 

"  Be  good  to  us,"  said  Mary.     "  What  is  it  now  ?" 

"  Ora,  don't  ax  me,"  replied  Barney,  who  had  just  come 


62  DAN 

down  from-  the  caged  lion.  "  It's  fairly  bewildhered  I  am, 
out  an'  out ;  I  wouldn't  wondher  av  it  was  burn  the  house 
about  our  ears  he  would,  in  one  of  his  tanthrums." 

"  What's  worryin'  him  now  ?" 

"  Faix,  the  misthress  is  at  the  head  ov  it,  an'  the  gout's 
at  the  feet,  an',  between  the  two,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  av 
his  thrunk  was  imptied  afore  long." 

Up  Ftairs  the  tempest  raged  with  undiminished  fury. 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't,  I  won't,"  roared  the  impatient 
patient.  "  I  never  could  taste  a  dhrop  of  physic  in  my 
life." 

"Oh,  my !  what  a  fib,"  said  his  consoler,  the  sweet-voiced 
Mrs.  Bulworthy.  "  Why,  you've  swallowed  enough  to  kill 
a  regiment  of  decent  people,  indeed,  I  don't  know  what's 
come  over  you  to  day,  at  all ;  you're  not  a  bit  like  your- 
self" 

"  The  devil  I'm  not,"  said  the  other,  somewhat  alarmed ; 
but  a  glance  at  his  swathed  extremities,  accompanied  by  a 
spasm  of  pain,  gave  him  uncomfortable  assurance  that 
he  was  still  in  the  Squire's  skin.  "Bedad,  ma'm,"  he 
went  on,  "  if  you  and  the  gout  ain't  enough  to  drive  a  man 
out  of  himself,  I  don't  know  what  would ;  get  out,  1  tell 
you,  and  leave  me  alone ;  one  at  a  time's  enough.'* 

"  Will  you  promise  to  read  this  tract,  then  ?" 

"It's  a  mighty  fine  time  to  talk  about  readin'.  How 
much  money  am  I  worth  ?" 

"  You  surely  don't  forget  that,  .Pether  ?" 

"  Well,  indeed,*  what  with  the  pain  and  other  little  mat- 
ters, it  has  slipped  my  memory.'* 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  63 

"  Just  eight  thousand  six  hundred  pounds." 
"As  much  as  that?  murdher  alive!  you  don't  say  so; 
then  let  us  pack  up  and  be  off,"  cried  he,  with  an  injudi- 
cious bound  of  pleasure  that  brought  the  corkscrew  into 
his  joints  with  redoubled  acuteness. 

"Go,  where?"  inquired  Mrs.  Bulworthy,  as  coolly  as 
though  she  were  enjoying  the  agony  which  revelled  through 
his  racked  frame. 

"Anywhere,"  screamed  he.  "Anywhere  out  of  this 
vagabone  neighborhood.  Ah  !  tear  an  aiges  av  1  thought  I 
was  going  to  be  massacreed  in  this  way,  I'd  a  stayed  as  I 
was ;  it's  to  the  very  marrow  of  my  bones  that  I'm  sorry 
for  it  now." 

"  Sorry  for  what,  Pether  ?"  said  Mrs.  Bulworthy  *  "  what 
in  the  name  of  gracious  are  you  raving  about  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  he,  "  only  it's  ravin'  with  the  hunger 
I  am ;  I  feel  as  if  I  hadn't  had  anything  to  eat  for  six 
weeks  or  more." 

"Sure,  won't  you  have  something  in  a  few  minutes," 
said  she.  "  There's  the  turtle  soup  and  curried  lobster  you 
ordered  for  lunch  getting  ready  as  fast  as  it  can." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  that ;  may-be  I  won't  astonish  it 
then,"  said  he,  smacking  his  lips  at  the  delicious  anticipa- 
tion of  devouring  dishes  that,  to  him,  were  hitherto 
apocryphal  things. 

"  Is  there  anything  else  you  want  before  I  go  ?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,  except,  may-be,  you  might  just 
run  over  the  way  and  see  how  Mrs.  Duff  and  the  babby  is." 

"  Heigh-day !"    screamed    Mrs.    Bulworthy,    bestowing 


54  DAN    duff's    wish, 

upon  him  one  of  her  most  indignant  glances.  "  I'd  like  to 
know  what  business  you  have  to  be  thinking  of  Mrs.  Duflf 
and  her  babby !" 

"  Would  you,  really,  ma'm  ?  then,  if  your  curiosity  is 
anyway  tickled,  Til  have  you  to  understand  that  it's  a 
mighty  high  regard  I  entertain  for  them  two  people," 
replied  he. 

"  You  do,  do  you  ?  why,  then,  it's  a  face  you  have  to 
say  that  same  to  me,  you  dirty,  miserable,  money-sorapin' 
ioTioramus ;  me,  that  took  such  care  of  your  body  and  sowl 
for  so  many  years." 

"Read  one  of  your  papers,  ma'm;  practice  what  you 
preach,"  suggested  the  fictitious  Bulworthy. 

"How  would  you  look  if  I  was  to  say  that  I  had  a 
regard  for  the  cobbler  himself,  since  you're  so  mightily 
interested  in  his  wife  ?"  said  she,  with  an  injured- woman 
air  and  look. 

"  Say,  ma'm !  Bedad,  I'd  say  that  Ifee  cobbler  isn't 
such  a  fool  as  to  return  the  compliment,"  replied  the  other, 
iti  a  provoking  tone,  that  made  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Bulworthy 
flash  green  like  those  of  a  cat  in  the  dark. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of.  that,"  she  retorted,  with  a  meaning 
toss  of  her  fallacious  curls,  that  implied  unspeakable 
things. 

"  But  I  am,  you  see,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  ma'm," 
he  went  on,  with  a  jolly  laugh,  strangled  suddenly  by  a 
gouty  pang  that  made  him  roar  again. 

"  Serve  you  right,  you  ungrateful  reprobate ;  I  saw 
you  this  morning  Hinging  your  good-for-nothing  eyes  at 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  65 

the  jade ;  but  I'll  serve  you  out  for  it,  see  if  I  don't ;  you 
shall  have  a  blessed  time,  if  ever  a  man  had  in  the  world, 
you  vile,  deceitful,  double-faced  old  porcupine ;  after  the 
years  we've  been  together,  too,  slavin'  and  working  to  scrape 
up  the  bit  of  money  to  be  the  comfort  of  our  old  age,"  she 
continued,  diverging  into  the  sentirftental,  and  dropping 
a  few  hard  tears,  that  fell  from  her  cold  eyes  like  pellets 
of  hail.  "  You  want  to  break  my  heart,  you  do,  you  mur- 
derer, that  you  may  follow  your  wicked  coorses  without 
hendrance.  Mrs.  Duflf  and  her  babby;  indeed,  her  babby  ! 
how  do  I  know  who's  babby  it  is  ?"  and  she  looked  green- 
eyed  monsters  at  the  supposititious  Squire,  who  heightened 
her  fiery  temper  up  to  explosion-point,  by  replying,  with  a 
chuckle. 

"  Faix,  the  babby's  mine,  I  b'leeve." 

Now  be  it  understood  that,  for  tbe  instant,  his  dis- 
putable identity  was  forgotten,  and  it  was  all  Dan  that 


"  Yourg,"  shrieked  the  now  infuriated  female,  making  a 
threatening  demonstration  towards  him. 

"  Yes— no — I  mean — oh,  murdher,  I  forgot  I  was  ould 
Bulworthy  for  a  minnit.  It's  a  rise  I  was  takin'  out  of  you, 
that's  all,"  he  w^ent  on,  "just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing." 

The  further  discussion  of  this  delicate  subject  was  put  a 
stop  to  by  the  entrance  of  Barney  and  Mary  with  the 
Squire's  lunch ;  a  very  gratifying  and  timely  interruption 
to  the  stormy  tete-a-tete,  in  the  opinion  of  one  of  the  party, 
at  all  events. 

The  delicious  condiments  being  duly  served,  from  which 


56 


arose  an  appetizing  odor,  Btiraulating  Dan's  appetite  into 
ravenous  hunger,  "  \Yon  t  you  sit  down,  ma'm,"  said  he, 
"  and  take  a  mouthful  ?" 

"Indeed,  and  it's  polite  you  are,  all  of  a  sudden.  You 
never  asked  the  like  before,  but  was  always  glad  enough  ig 
get  me  out  of  sight  that  you  might  gormandize  to  your 
heart's  content,"  replied  she,  acrimoniously.  "  But  it's  a 
sure  sign  that  you  are  guilty  of  something  wrong  some- 
where, with  somebody,  or  you  wouldn't  be  so  extra  accom- 
modating." 

"  Si^  down,  and  howld  yer  prate,"  cried  the  other,  anxious 
to  attack  the  tempting  viands. 

"  I  won't,  you  ould  sinner.  I  know  you  don't  want  me, 
It's  only  your  conscience  that's  giving  you  no  rest.  I'll 
leave  you  to  stuff  and  cram,  and  I  only  wish  it  was  pison, 
that  I  do."  With  this  pleasant  observation,  hissed  viper- 
ously  through  her  closed  teeth,  she  flounced  out  of  the 
room,  giving  the  door  a  parting  bang  that  sent  an  electric 
shock  of  pain  through  poor  Dan's  nervous  system. 

"Oh!  milliah  murdher,"  groaned  he,  "an'  this  is  the 
agreeable  speciment  of  a  walkin'  vinegar-cruet,  that  I  left 
my  scanty  but  comfortable  home,  and  the  angel  that  made 
a  heaven  of  it,  for.  Well,  the  fools  ain't  all  gone  yet — 
but,  never  mind,  isn't  there  the  money  and  the  eatin' ;  so, 
here  goes  to  have  a  feed  that  'ud  take  the  concate  out  of 
a  hungry  elephant." 

So  saying,  he  lifted  off  the  cover,  and  plunged  the  ladle 
into  the  steaming  tureen,  when,  to  his  enormous  surprise, 
instead  of  the  savory  mess  he  anticipated,,  he  fished  up  and 


AND     WHAT     CAME      OF     IT.  57 

deposited  upon  his  plate,  the  identical  little  jockey  before 
described,  spurs  and  all. 

"How  are  you,  Mr  Duff?"  said  he,  touching  his  cap  in 
true  stable  style,  as  he  seated  himself  upon  the  raised  edge 
of  the  soup-plate. 

"  You  have  the  advantage  of  me,  sir,"  replied  Dan,  rev- 
erentially, for  he  was  a  firm  believer  in  "  the  good  people," 
that  is  to  say,  the  fairies,  and  dreaded  the  immensity  of 
their  power. 

"We  haven't  met  before,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  little 
fellow,  ''  but  you  see  I  know  who  you  are,  in  spite  of  that 
fleshy  stuffing  you  have  got  into." 

"Bedad,  there's  no  mistake  about  that,  sir,"  replied 
Dan.  "  Would  it  be  too  great  a  liberty  to  ax  what  it  is 
I'm  indebted  to  for  the  honor  of  your  company  at  this  par- 
ticular time  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  Dan.  The  fact  is,  between  you  and  me, 
I'm  always  present  where  there's  such  good  cheer  to  be 
found  as  I  see  before  me." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  an'  would  it  inconvenience  you  much  to  sit 
somewhere  else,  for  I'm  mortial  hungry  at  this  present 
minit,  an'  I'm  afeard  I'd  be  splashin'  your  boots  with  the 
gravy." 

"  Anything  to  oblige,"  said  the  other,  jumping  over  the 
edge  of  the  plate,  like  a  four-year  old. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I'll  do  as  much  for  you,  provided  it's 
in  my  power,"  observed  the  hungry  cobbler,  drawing  nearer 
a  huge  dish  of  curried  lobster,  the  spice-laden  steam  from 
which  would   create   a   new  appetite   in    repletion's    self. 

3* 


58  DAN      DUFFS     WISH, 

Heaping  up  his  plate,  while  his  mouth  filled  with  water  at 
the  glorious  sight,  he  was  just  about  to  shovel  a  vast  quan- 
tity into  his  capacious  mouth,  when  a  sharp 

"  Stop,  Dan !"  from  the  little  jockey,  arrested  his  hand 
mid- way. 

"  Do  you  know  the  result  of  your  eating  that  mouth- 
ful ?" 

"  Never  a  bit  of  me,  sir,"  said  Dan,  making  another 
movement  tosvards  his  head. 

"  Ha !  wait  till  I  tell  you,"  cried  the  other. 

Dan  stopped  again.  "  This  is  wonderful  tantalizin'  to  an 
impty  Christian,"  said  he. 

"  Listen,  Dan.  I  have  a  sort  of  regard  for  you,  and  so 
I'll  give  you  this  warning  :  If  you  swallow  that  stuff  that's 
overloading  your  knife  " — Dan  wasn't  genteel  in  his  eating 
— "  I'll  have  to  ride  a  hurdle  race  upon  your  big  toe,  and 
I'll  be  bail  that  I'll  make  it  beat  all  the  rest  of  your  ana- 
tomy in  the  way  of  jumping." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  ?"  cried  Dan,  dropping  knife  and 
all  into  the  plate  before  him. 

"  Every  word  of  it,"  said  the  little  fellow. 

"  Oh,  get  out !  you're  not  in  airnest  ?" 

"  May-be  you'd  like  to  try  ?" 

"  Be  the  mortial  o'  war,  I  ddn't  b'leeve  you,  anyway 
the  hungriness  is  drivin'  all  consequences  oat  of  me  reck- 
onin',  so,  here  goes,  jump  or  no  jump."  So,  with  a  (ies- 
perate  recklessness,  Dan  rushed  greedily  at  the  eatables, 
and  never  in  his  life  did  he  eat  the  tithe  part  of  what  he 
demolished  upon  this  occasion.     Everything  on  the  table 


AND      W  H  A  T     C  A  M  E      OF      IT.  59 

disappeared  before  his  all-devouring  appetite,  like  smoke, 
and  as  the  "  materials  were  handy,  he  topped  all  up  with  a 
"  screechin'  hot "  tumbler  of  whisky-punch,  stift'  enough  to 
poke  courage  into  any  man's  heart. 

In  the  meantime,  wholly  absorbed  in  his  prodigious  ban- 
quet, he  had  quite  lost  sight  of  his  friend,  the  jockey  ;  but 
now,  as  with  a  sigh  of  intense  satisfaction,  he  reclined  back 
in  the  cushioned  chair,  he  became  sensible  of  a  sort  of 
fidgetiness  about  his  foot^  and  on  looking  down,  what 
should  he  see  but  the  little  chap,  very  busy  indeed,  with 
his  whip  in  his  mouth,  saddling  up  his  big  toe,  as  gingerly 
as  you  please.  He  was  just  giving  the  girth  a  last  pull, 
which  he  accompanied  with  the  usual  jerking  expression, 
making  Dan  wince  a  little,  from  a  sense  of  tigJitness  in  the 
nag. 

The  business-like  manner  of  the  chap,  however,  soon 
banished  the  uncomfortable  feeling,  and  so  excited  Dan's 
risibilities,  that  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  with  uncon- 
trollable laughter.  It  is  astonishing  how  very  near  the  sur- 
face the  leverage  of  a  good  dinner  and  a  warm  "  tod,"  lifts 
up  one's  jolly  feelings. 

Dan  was  now  in  a  condition  to  sign  a  treaty  of  perpet- 
ual amity  with  all  mankind. 

Delusive  tranquillity ! 

"  Mount,"  cried  the  little  rider,  jumping  into  his  saddle. 
"  Hurrah  !  off  we  go  !  heigh  !" 

The  first  slash  of  the  whip  and  dig  of'  the  spur  changed 
the  nature  of  Dan's  emotions  most  effectually.  He  roared, 
he  raged,  he  twisted  about  like  an  eel  on  a  spear.     Still 


60  DAN      D  U  F  F  '  d      W  I  S  il  . 

fiercely  and  uumercifully  the  little  jockey  plied  the  lash 
and  the  goad.  Still  he  shouted,  "  Hurrah  !  jump,  you 
devil,  jump  1" 

Now,  Dan  swore  like  a  rapparee ;  now,  he  called  upon 
every  saint  in  the  calendar  ;  but  there  was  no  cessation  to 
his  torture.  In  the  extremity  of  his  fury,  he  flung  the 
whisky-bottle  at  the  Httle  rider's  head  ;  but  as  it  struck  his 
own  foot,  it  only  augmented  the  terrible  agony. 

From  praying  and  swearing  he  fell  to  weeping,  but  the 
stony-hearted  little  tyrant  was  not  assailable  by  tears  or 
entreaties.  Promises  of  amendment  were  equally  useless  ; 
until,  at  last,  happening  to  recollect  what  a  horror  all 
supernaturals  have  of  the  pure  element,  he  seized  a  tumbler 
of  water,  and  nearly  drowned  his  tormentor  with  its  con- 
tents. This  had  the  desired  efl'ect.  The  little  vagabond 
dismounted  with  a  shrill  cry  of  annoyance,  and  rushed 
over  towards  the  fire-place,  to  dry  his  soaked  garments. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  you  thief  of  the  world,  I  know  what'll  settle 
your  hash  now — weather  !"  said  Dan,  instantly  relieved  from 
pain  ;  "  and,  wid  a  blessin',  you  shall  have  enough  of  that 
same,  if  ever  you  venture  to  come  hurdle-racin'  on  any 
toes  o'  mine. 

"  Stick  to  that  Dan,  my  hero,"  said  the  little  fellow,  as 
he  shook  the  drops  off  his  drenched  jacket ;  "  stick  to  that, 
and  you  may  depend  upon  it  that  I'll  never  trouble  you 
any  more." 

And  so,  having  got  rid  of  his  enemy,  Dan  snuggled  him- 
self back  into  the  comfortable  easy-chair,  and  very  soon 
forgot  himself  and  all  the  real  world,  in  the  perplexities 
and  comic  horrors  of  a  dyspeptic  dream. 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT  61 


CHAPTER    V.  ■ 

Within  the  home  where  jealousy  is  found, 
A  Upas  grows  that  poisons  all  around. 

It  would  be  as  unprofitable  as  impossible  to  follow  the 
ever-varjing  images  of  a  dream,  which  apparently  con- 
sumed the  best  part  of  a  century ;  every  half  hour  of  which 
had  its  separate  distress,  although  the  actual  period  of  time 
passed  did  not  reach  ten  minutes,  to  such  singular  and 
enormous  expansion  was  the  imagination  swollen.  The 
few  placid  moments  distorted  into  numberless  years  of  ter- 
ror, like  the  drop  of  seemingly  pure  water,  resolved,  by 
microscopic  power,  into  an  ocean  of  repulsive  monsters. 

Dan  had  just  been  very  properly  condemned  to  death 
for  the  five  and  twentieth  time,  and  had  waited  in  gasping 
dread  for  the  infliction  of  some  inconceivable — except 
under  such  circumstances — mode  of  bodily  torture,  when 
he  heard  a  tremendous  noise,  like  the  explosion  of  an 
immense  piece  of  ordnance,  close  by  his  side.  With  a 
nervous  start,  that  benumbed  his  frame  like  a  powerful 
shock,  he  awoke,  bathed  in  perspiration  and  half  dead  with 
fright.  The  sound  was  repeated.  It  was  a  simple,  single, 
hesitating  little  knock  at  the  chamber-door. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  he  stammered,  scarcely  yet  aroused  to 
the  consciousness  of  his  identity. 

"  It's  me,  sir,"  replied  a  gentle  voice,  that  thrilled  through 


62  DAN    duff's    wish, 

him  with  different  sensations,  for  delight  and  joy  stole  over 
him  like  a  sun-ray.     It  was  his  wife's. 

" Come  in,  Peg,"  said  he,  "for  an  angel  that  you  are. 
If  it  wasn't  for  this  blessed  interruption  I'd  have  died  in 
my  bed  with  the  wear  an'  tear  of  murdherin'  bad  dreams." 
He  would  fain  have  rushed  into  Peggy's  arms  as  she 
entered,  but  the  first  attempt  at  making  use  of  his  continu- 
ations painfully  reminded  him  that  they  belonged  to  some- 
body else.  It  also  admonished  him  that  it  was  necessary 
for  him  to  support  his  new  character  with  dignity. 

"  Well,  ma'm,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  mean  by  dis- 
turbin'  me  in  this  unprincipled  way  ?" 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  replied  Peggy,  timidly,  "  an'  I'm  a'most 
ashamed  to  tell  you;  it's  that  man  o'  mine  over  the  way, 
sir;  sure,  I  don't  know  what's  come  to  him,  at  all,  at  all, 
within  the  last  few  hours." 

"Ho  !  ho!"  thought  Dan,  "he's  had  a  quare  time  of  it 
as  well  as  myself.  "What's  the  matter  with  him,  Mrs. 
Duffy?" 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  know,  sir,  av  anybody'd  only 
tell  me ;  I  never  knew  him  to  kick  up  such  tanthrums  ever 
since  we  come  together ;  musha !  sure,  an'  the  devil's  in 
him  if  ever  he  enthered  a  mortal  body,  this  blessed  day — 
an'  dhrink  !  murdher  alive,  sir,  av  he  wouldn't  dhrink  the 
say  dhry  av  he  only  had  the  swally,  I'm  not  here." 

"That's  bad,  very  bad,  indeed,"  said  the  other,  oracu- 
larly. "People  should  never  indulge  in  such  terrible 
propensities,"  he  went  on,  with  a  bold  attempt  at  Bul- 
worthy's  phraseology. 


AND      W  11  A  T      C  A  :v.r  i^      r,  F      T  T  .  63 

"  Sure,  sir,  doesn't  it  depend  upon  what  dh rives  them  to 
it  ?"  replied  Peggy.  "  Throuble's  mighty  dhrouthy,  sir, 
intirely ;  it  dhrys  up  a  poor  man's  throat  as  if  there  was  a 
fire  in  his  mouth,  and,  indeed,  me  poor  Dan's  poorer  nor 
the  poorest  this  holy  day." 

"That's  no  rayson,  ma'm,"  said  the  other,  with  mock 
sternness,  although  his  frame  was  in  a  glow  of  joy  at  hear- 
ing how  Peggy  managed  to  find  excuses  for  his  favorite 
failing.  "  That's  no  rayson,  ma'm ;  the  more  fool  him  for 
addin'  flame  to  the  fire." 

"Thrue  for  you,  sir,  but  then  doesn't  it  dhrownd  the 
blaze  foe  the  time  ?" 

"  I'll  answer  ye  that,  Mrs.  Dufi',  if  you  please,  allygori- 
cally  ;  did  ye  ever  see  a  few  dhrops  of  sperrets  flung  into  a 
blazin'  fire  ?  a  murdherin'  lot  of  dhrowndin'  there  is  about 
it ;  bedad,  the  fire  only  burns  with  greater  strength." 

"Then,  of  coorse,  your  honor,  it  stands  to  good  sense 
that  it's  foolish  to  take  only  a  few  dhrops,"  she  replied, 
with  a  sly  look  at  the  Squire,  that  made  the  laugh  bubble 
all  over  his  ruddy  face. 

"  One  would  a'most  suppose  that  you  loved  this  Dan  of 
yours,"  said  he. 

"Love  him,  sir!  do  the  spring  flowers  love  the  sun? 
does  the  young  mother  love  her  new-born  babby  ?" 

"  Oh  I  murdher,  murdher !  listen  to  this,"  cried  Dan  ; 
"  an'  me  shut  up  inside  of  this  prison  of  a  carcass ;  it  was  a 
mortial  sin  to  leave  her,  an'  I'm  suff'erin'  for  it  as  I  ouo-ht, 
an'  it  sarves  me  right."  The  thought  made  him  savage,  so 
turning  to  poor  Peggy  with  a  look  of  anger,  he  continued, 
fiercely : 


64:  DAN     duff's     WISH, 

"  What  brought  you  here,  ma'm  ?  may-be  you'll  conde- 
scind  to  inform  me  at  oncet." 

"  Oh !  sir,  don't  be  angry  wid  him,  but  its  outrageous 
intirely  that  he  is;  sure,  he  wants  somethin'  that  I'm 
afeared  to  ax." 

"  What  is  it  ?  don't  keep  me  waitin'  all  day." 

"  I  hope  yer  honor  will  take  into  considheration  the  way 
he's  in  just  now,  for  he  sthole  out  onbeknown  to  me,  an' 
how  he  got  the  sup,  I  can't  tell ;  but  it's  on  him  dhreadful, 
or  he'd  never  think  of  the  likes." 

"  The  likes  of  what  ?  what's  throublin'  him  now  ?  speak 
out,  woman,  or  you'll  drive  the  little  bit  of  patience  that  I 
have  clean  out  of  me." 

"  Then,  sir,  the  long  an'  the  short  of  it  is,  an'  I  dunno 
what  put  such  foolishness  in  his  head,  he  towld  me  to  ax 
ver  honor,  if  yer  honor  had  a  thrifle  of  that  soup  left ;  he'd 
take  it  as  a  mighty  great  favor  if  yer  honor  would  let  him 
have  the  least  taste  in  life  of  it,"  said  Peggy,  with  an 
extreme  misgiving  as  to  how  so  presumptuous  a  request 
would  be  received. 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  said  Dan,  calmly,  to  her  intense  relief. 
"  Take  it,  an'  welcome,  Mrs.  Duff,  an'  if  it  does  him  as 
much  good  as  it  did  me  you  won't  be  throubled  wid  such 
a  message  again,  I'll  be  bound ;  there's  the  vagabone  stuff 
in  that  big  bowl  over  on  the  sidel)oard  fornenst  you ;  an' 
tell  him,  by  the  same  token,  from  me,  that  av  he  feels  at 
all  uncomfortable  in  his  present  quarthers,  it  wouldn't  kill 
me  right  out  to  swap  again." 

"  Swap  what,  sir  ?"  inquired  Peggy,  rather  mystified. 
"Oh!  he'll  know  what  I  mean." 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  65 

"And  so  do  I,"  screamed  the  irate  Mrs.  Bulworthj 
rushing  into  the  room,  at  the  door  of  which,  she  had  been 
listening  during  the  entire  conversation,  the  spirit  of 
which  had  inflamed  her  jealous  temperament  up  to  fever 
heat. 

"  I  know  what  you  want  to  swap,  you  ill-conditioned 
profligate,"  she  went  on,  in  true  Zantippe  style.  "  You 
want  to  swap  wives,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Faix,  an'  you  never  said  a  thruer  word,"  coolly  replied 
Dan. 

This  w^as  too  much  for  the  excited  dame ;  with  a  yell 
of  fury  she  rushed  at  Peggy,  and  would  assuredly  have 
indented  the  marks  of  all  her  finger-nails  in  her  comely 
countenance,  but  that  the  other,  finding  the  door  conve- 
niently open,  snatched  up  the  tureeen  of  soup  and  fled 
down  stairs  like  a  phantom. 

Her  prey  thus  escaping,  the  shock  of  her  terrible  rage 
was  concentrated  upon  the  head  of  the  devoted  Dan ;  to 
what  grievous  extremity  it  would, carry  her  he  had  not  an 
idea,  but  he  felt  that  something  awful  was  about  to  take 
place.  , 

"  Considher  my  misfortunes,"  he  cried,  "  and  be  merci- 
ful, Mrs.  Bui  worthy." 

Implacable  as  the  embodied  Parcae,  she  advanced 
towards  him. 

"  You're  not  goin'  to  murdher  me,  woman,"  he  roared. 

Silently,  she  approached  still  nearer,  desperation  was  in 
her  aspect. 

"  Help,  murdher,  help !"  cried  Dan,  inevitable  fate 


66  DAN     DUFFS     WISH; 

ing  to  be  on  the  point  of  overwhelming  him  in  some  way 
or  another. 

"  What  the  divil  is  the  ould  monsther  goin'  to  do  ?" 
thought  he,  as  a  frightful  suspicion  raised  his  flesh  into 
little  hillocks,  and  made  his  hair  sting  his  head  like  needle- 
points, when  he  saw  her  deliberately  take  a  singular-look- 
in  cr  phial  and  pour  out  a  few  drops  of  a  fiery  red  liquor, 
filling  the  rest  of  the  glass  with  water,  through  which  the 
former  hissed  and  eddied  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  sub- 
sided into  a  horrible  blackness.  • 

''Drink  this,"  she  ejaculated,  solemnly,  "and  pay  the 
penalty  of  your  infamous  conduct." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  inquired,  in  a  voice  of  alarm. 

"Poison!  you  profligate,"  replied  the  other,  regarding 
him  with  a  Borgian  expression. 

"  Holy  Vargin !  an'  me  screwed  into  the  floor  wid  this 
threfalian  gout,"  gasped  Dan,  his  face  bedewed  with  the 
effect  of  his  mental  agony.  "  Stop  !  you  murdherin'  ould 
witch  !  Stop !  you  have  no  right  to  sarve  me  this  way. 
I  don't  belong  to  you  at  all,"  cried  Dan,  as  a  last  re- 
source. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  you  miserable  sinner  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  you're  no  wife  o'  mine,  the  Lord  be  praised 
for  it." 

"  Would  you  deny  your  honest  wife,  you  cannibal  ?" 

"  I  would — I  do,"  cried  he,  desperately. 

"  You're  not  my  husband  ?" 

"I'll  be  upon  my  Bible  oath  I'm  not." 

"  What— not  Bui  worthy  ?" 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  67 

« The  divil  a  toe,  ma'm,  savin'  yer  presence.  I'm  Dan 
Duff,  the  cobbler,  from  over  the  way." 

"  Oh,  the  man's  mad — mad  as  a  coot,"  said  Mrs.  Bul- 
worthy,  with  appalling  calmness,  "  and  it  would  only 
be  a  mercy  to  put  him  out  of  his  misery,  soon  an'  sud- 
dent." 

"  Tear  an  aigers,  av  I  only  had  the  use  of  these  Hag- 
gard legs  of  mine,  wouldn't  I  make  an  example  of  ye,  you 
ould  witch  of  Endher,"  muttered  Dan.  "  I  won't  be 
slaughtered  without  an  offer  to  save  myself,  any  way." 
With  that,  he  started  to  his  feet,  and  to  his  great  surprise 
and  delight  discovered  that  his  powers  of  locomotion  were 
unimpeded.  With  a  wild  hurroo !  he  jumped,  as  only  a 
Munster  man  can  jump,  and  dancing  over  to  the  now  tho- 
roughly alarmed  Squiress,  who  could  see  nothing  in  such 
extravagance  but  a  confirmation  o>f  his  utter  insanity,  he 
lifted  her  in  his  arms  as  though  she  were  a  rag  doll. 

"  Now,  ma'm,"  said  he,  "  I'll  see  if  I  can't  cure  your 
propensity  for  pison.  Into  that  closet  you'll  go,  and  out 
of  it  you  sha'n't  budge  until  you  come  to  your  senses,  or  I 
come  to  myself ;  and  I'm  afeard  that  one's  as  far  off  as  the 
other — worse  luck  for  both  of  us ;"  and  so,  without  the 
slightest  attempt  at  resistance  on  her  part,  not  knowing  to 
what  extremity  this  outburst  of  madness  would  lead  him, 
he  snugly  deposited  her  ladyship  in  a  corner  cupboard, 
which  he  locked,  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  accompa- 
nying the  whole  movement  with  a  paroxysm  of  laughter, 
so  long  and  loud  that  she  congratulated  herself  upon  the 
slight  shelter  thus  afforded  her,  and  only  feared  that  the 


68  DAN    duff's    wish, 

next  phase  in  his  malady  would  be  of  more  sanguinary  a 
nature. 

This  great  feat  accomplished,  Dan  threw  himself  back 
»n  the  easy-chair,  and  began  seriously  to  ruminate  upon  his 
present  condition  and  his  future  prospects. 

"This,  then,  is  what  I  left  my  blessed  Peg  and  the 
blesseder  babby  for ;  to  live  a  life  of  gout  and  conthrariness, 
never  to  have  any  confidence  in  my  muscles,  but  always 
thremblin'  for  feard  that  sharp-spurred  jockey  would  take 
a  fancy  for  a  canther,  or,  what's  worse  even  than  that,  to 
be  in  dhread  of  the  penethratin'  tongue  of  ould  mother 
Gab,  yondher,  whine ver  I'm  laid  by  the  leg ;  oh !  if  iver 
there  was  a  poor  sinner  that  repinted,  it's  myself  that's 
last  on  the  list,  an'  greatest;  could  I  only  see  the  darlin' 
of  a  sperret  that  gev  me  the  good  advice  I  so  fool- 
ishly kicked  at,  it's  beg  her  pardon  on  my  bended  knees- 
that  I  would,  if  it  was  hot  cendhers  that  was  undher 
them." 

At  that  instant,  he  was  aware  of  the  gentlest  of  all  gen- 
tle touches  on  his  shoulder,  and  on  turning  his  head  in 
the  direction,  sure  enough,  there  she  was. 

H/an  was  prostrate  before  her,  in  a  moment.  "  Ora 
good  luck  and  long  life  to  you,  miss,  for  comin'  to  me  in 
my  disthress ;  I  don't  deserve  it,  I  know  I  don't." 

"Get  up,  Mr.  Duff,"  said  the  spirit.  "I  am  but  the 
reflection  of  your  better  thoughts;  therefore,  you  must 
profter  your  repentance,  through  me,  to  the  throne  of  One 
who  rules  us  both." 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  cried  the  other ;  "  truly  and  wholly," 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  69 

covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  through  which  the  tears 
now  streamed  copiously. 

"  What  is  your  wish  ?"  inquired  the  good  spirit. 

"  You  know,  you  must  know,  for  it's  fairly  breakin'  my 
heart  I  am  here;  I  want  to  get  back  to  myself,  and  Peggy, 
an'  the  boy." 

"  Ah  !  you  have  begun  to  think  of  them  at  last." 

"  I  own  I  have  been  selfish,  sinfully,  wretchedly  selfish, 
but  I'm  cured,"  replied  Dan,  in  a  tone  of  contrition. 

"But  you  remember  the  conditions  of  the  compact," 
said  the  other,"  neither  of  you  can  regain  your  original 
form  and  station  unless  both  consent." 

"  Oh !  wirrasthrue,  then  I'll  never  be  my  own  man 
again,"  sobbed  Dan.  "  Ould  Bulworthy,  bad  'cess  to  him, 
has  the  best  of  the  bargain,  an'  he'll  stick  to  it  like  wax  ; 
small  blame  to  him  for  it,  seein'  that  I  sould  my  comfort 
entirely  for  a  pair  of  murdherin'  top-boots ;  he  ain't  such 
an  omathaun  as  to  come  back  here  to  his  gout  an'  his 
scowldin'  madame,  when  its  a  thrifle  of  hunger  is  all  he'll 
have  to  put  up  wid,  over  the  way,  an'  there's  happiness 
enough  in  one  glance  of  Peggy's  bright  eye,  to  swally  that 
up  if  it  was  ten  times  as  throublesome ;  and  there's  the 
boy,  too,  that's  like  a  growin'  angel  about  the  house,  fillin' 
up  every  spot  of  it  wid  heavenly  joy  ;  oh  !  wirra,  wirra  ! 
sure,  I  didn't  know  the  luck  I  was  in  until  I  lost  it  out  an' 
out." 

"  The  perversity  of  rhankind  is  strange,"  said  the  spirit. 
"  Are  you  certain  that  Bulworthy  is  content  in  his  present 
condition  ?" 


70  DAN 

"  How  the  divil  can  he  be  otherwise  ?"  replied  the  other, 
savagely. 

"  You  were  not,  you  remember." 

"Because  I  didn't  know  there  was  a  worse:  like  an 
ignorant  fool,  I  thought  that  a  scanty  meal  now  and  then 
was  the  greatest  calamity  in  the  world  ;  be  me  sowl.  I've 
had  the  knowledge  rubbed  into  my  bones,  that  too  much 
is  sometimes  apt  to  sting  a  fellow  afterwards  more  than  too 
little." 

"Perhaps  the  sensation  of  hunger  may  be  to  him  as 
disagreeable  as  the  sense  of  satiety  is  to  you,"  suggested 
the  spirit. 

"  Oh !  if  there  was  only  a  chance  of  that,"  cried  Dan, 
brightening  up  at  the  idea.  "  An'  be  the  same  token,  now 
that  I  think  of  it,  he  did  send  over  for  some  of  that  vaga- 
bone  soup  ;  long  life  to  you,  you've  put  the  hope  into  me 
heart  once  more ;  but  how  the  mischief  am  I  to  find  out 
the  state  of  the  ould  blaggard's  feelin's  ?" 

"There's  nothing  like  going 'to  work  in  a  straightfor- 
ward way,"  said  the  spirit;  "just  put  on  your  hat  and  go 
over  and  ask  him." 

"  Faix,  an'  I  will,  an'  thank  you  kindly,  too,  for  puttin' 
it  into  me  head,"  replied  Dan. 

"I  wish  you  good  morning,  then,"  said  the  other,  and 
even  while  Dan  was  looking  at  her  straight  in  her  face, 
she  gradually  resumed  her  vapory  appearance,  growing 
thinner  and  thinner,  until  she  finally  went  out  like  a  pufF 
of  tobacco. 


AND     WHAT     GAME     OF     IT.  Tl 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  within  the  circle  of  your  own  estate, 
Confine  yourself,  nor  yearn  for  brighter  fate." 

And  now  let  us  return  to  the  cobbler's  cabin,  and  see 
how  matters  are  progressing  there.  Peggy  has  just 
brought  over  the  tureen  of  soup  so  fervently  longed  for  by 
the  changed  Squire ;  with  a  cry  of  joy,  for  he  is  very  hard 
set,  indeed,  he  seized  the  welcome  gift,  and  placing  it 
between  his  knees  as  he  sat  on  the  low  workstall,  prepared 
to  dive  into  its  savory  contents,  but  a  groan  of  horror  and 
disappointment  broke  from  his  lips  when,  on  taking  off  the 
cover,  he  found  the  tureen  was  empty. 

"  The  pippin-squeezing  ruffian,"  cried  he,  "  he's  sent  it 
over  without  as  much  as  a  smell,  and  I  so  mortial  hungry 
that  I  could  bite  a  tenpenny  nail  in  two ;  if  he  was  here, 
bad  'cess  to  me  if  I  wouldn't  smash  this  upon  his  head." 

"  That's  mighty  strange,  entirely,"  said  Peggy,  "  for  I'll 
be  on  me.  oath  there  was  plenty  in  ^t  when  I  took  it  off  the 
Squire's  sideboard." 

"  If  there  was,  you  must  have  gobbled  it  up  yourself,  or 
spilt  it  on  the  street,  you  unconsiderate  faymale,"  said  Bul- 
worthy. 

"  Is  it  me,  indeed,  Dan,  jewel?  it's  well  you  know  that 
if  it  was  goold,  an'  you  could  ate  it,  I  wouldn't  put  a  tooth 
into  it,  when  I  knew  you  wanted  it  so  dhreadful,"  replied 
Peggy,  reproachfully. 


72  DAN 

"  "Well,  may-be  you  Tvouldn't,"  doggedly  observed  Bul- 
worthy ;  "  but  do,  for  Heaven's  sake,  get  me  somethia'  to 
put  an  end  to  the  wobblin'  that's  goin'  on  in  the  inside  of 
me ;  may  I  never  leave  this  place  alive  if  I  think  I've  had 
a  male's  vitells  for  a  month." 

"  How  outrageous  you  are,  Dan,"  sorrowfully  replied  the 
other.     "  Where  am  I  to  get  it  ?" 

"Go  out  an'  buy  it,  ov  coorse." 

"  Arrah  what  with  ?  I'd  like  to  know ;  sure,  an'  won't  we 
have  ta  wait  until  that  purse-proud  ould  rap  over  the  way 
pays  us  the  shillin'  that  he  owes  us." 

A  reproachful  pang  shot  through  the  heart  of  Bulworth5r 
at  that  observation.  "  The  ould  skinflint,"  said  he,  "  if  I 
ever  get  near  him  again,  may-be  I  won't  touch  him  up  for 
not  doin'  that  same." 

"  Indeed,  an'  it  would  sarve  him  right,"  Peggy  went  on. 
"  Swimmin'  in  plenty  as  he  is,  it's  little  that  he  thinks  of 
the  pinchin'  hunger  we  feel." 

"Don't  don't,"  cried  Bulworthy,  pressing  his  hands 
against  his  gastronomic  regions.  "  I  feel  it  now,  fairly 
sthranglin'  me ;  it's  just  as  if  some  wild  savage  beast  was 
runnin'  up  and  down  here,  sarchin'  for  somethin'  to  devour, 
and  not  bein'  able  to  find  it,  is  takin'  mouthfuls  out  of  my 
intayrior  by  the  way  of  a  relish  ;  oh !  murdher,  I  never 
knew  what  hunger  was  before." 

"  Didn't  you,  raylly  ?"  Peggy  replied,  with  a  queer 
expression.  "  Faith,  then,  it  wasn't  for  the  want  of  chances 
enough." 

"  I  mean — don't  bother — it's  famished  I  am,  and  crazv 
a'most ;  is  there  a  dhrop  of  dhrink  in  the  house  ?" 


AND     WHAT     CAME     OF     IT.  73 

"  Not  as  miicli  as  would  make  a  tear  for  a  fly's  eye," 
said  Peg. 

"  No !  theu  what  the  Puck  are  we  to  do  ?" 

"  Bear  it,  I  suppose,  as  well  as  we  can ;  we've  often  done 
it  afore,  an'  what's  worse,  will  have  to  do  it  agin,  unless 
the  hearts  of  the  rich  changes  towards  us." 

"  Oh !  if  ever  I  get  back  to  myself  again,"  muttered  the 
hungry  Squire.  "Peg,  darlin',  go  over  to  the  old  schamer, 
an'  tell  him  that  av  he  doesn't  send  me  the  shillin'  I'll 
expose  him,  I  know  more  about  him  than  he  thinks  for; 
if  he's  black  conthrary,  you  might  just  whisper  in  his  lug 
that  I'm  up  to  his  thricks  when  he  was  in  the  grocery  line ; 
ax  him  for  me,  who  shoved  the  pennies  into  the  butther, 
wathered  the  whisky,  and  sanded  the  shugar,  who  " 

"  Why,  for  gracious  sake,  Dan,  where  did  you  pick  up 
all  that  knowledgeableness  ?"  interrupted  Peggy. 

"  Hem !  no  matther — never  you  mind — may-be  I  only 
dhreamt  it,"  replied  Bulworthy,  with  some  hesitation. 
"  I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  was  talkin'  about ;  it's  the 
imptyness  that's  speakin',  so  I  wouldn't  mention  it ;  only 
go  and  get  somethin'  somewhere,  av  it  was  only  a  brick." 

"  I'll  be  at  him  again,  Dan,  sence  you  wish  it ;  but  it's 
little  blood  I'm  thinking,  we'll  be  able  to  squeeze  out  of  his 
turnip  of  a  heart,"  said  Peggy,  putting  on  her  shawl  and 
bonnet,  to  make  the  thankless  attempt.  As  she  was  going 
out  of  the  door,  however,  she  saw  the  Squire  hobbling 
across  the  street. 

"  Talk  of  the — what's  his  name  —  May  I  never,  but 
here  the  ould  reprobate  comes,  hoppin'  gingerly  over  the 

4 


74  DAN      duff's      wish, 

stones,  like  a  hen  walkii/  on  a  hot  griddle.  May  the 
saints  soften  him  all  over,  an'  make  his  heart  as  tendher  as 
his  toes  this  blessed  day.  I'll  lave  you  wid  him,  Dan.  dar- 
lin',  for  I'm  not  over  partial  to  his  company.  So  I'll  take 
the  babby  out  for  a  blast  o'  fresh  air  while  yez  are  convar- 
sin'." 

Peggy's  preparations  for  her  promenade  were  quickly 
made,  which  resulted  in  her  leaving  the  place  before  the 
gouty  visitor  had  accomplished  his  short  but  painful  transit 
from  house  to  house. 

"  A  pretty  thing  Fve  done  for  myself,"  groaned  Bulwor- 
thy,  suflfering  alike  from  thirst,  hunger,  and  cold,  as  he 
vainly  strove,  by  slapping  his  hands  against  his  chest,  to 
make  the  blood  circulate  warmly  through  his  finger-ends. 
"  Ov  coorse  that  cobblin'  scoundrel  will  never  consent  to 
come  back  to  his  starvation  and  poverty — he'd  be  a  greater 
fool  even  than  I  was  if  he  did.  Ah  !  if  I  ever  do  get  back 
to  a  good  dinner  again,  there  shan't  be  a  poor  devil  within 
a  mile  of  me  that'll  ever  want  one  while  I  live.  Here 
comes  the  cripple  ;  the  only  chance  I  have  is  to  pretend 
that  I'm  in  a  sort  of  second-hand  paradise  here."  So  say- 
ing, he  commenced  to  sing,  in  a  voice  of  exaggerated  jol- 
lity, a  verse  of 

"  The  jug  o'  punch," 

accompanying  the  tune  by  vigorous  whacks  of  his  hammer 
upon  the  piece  of  sole-Jeather  he  was  beating  into  the  requi- 
site toughness. 

The  united  sounds  of  merriment  and  industry  smote  upon 
Dan's  heart  like  a  knell. 


AND      WHAT      CAME      OF      IT.  75 

"Listen  at  the  happy  ragamuflBn,  working  away  like  a 
whole  hive  o'  bees,  and  chirpin'  like  a  pet  canary-bird," 
said  he  to  himself.  "  Oh,  it's  aisy  seen  he  won't  want  to 
renew  his  acquaintance  wid  this  murdherin'  gout  an'  the 
useless  money — but,  hit  or  miss,  it  won't  do  to  let  him  see 
me  down  in  the  mouth." 

So,  putting  on  a  careless  swagger,  and  forcing  a  tone  of 
joyousness  into  his  voice  : 

"Hallo,  cobbler,"  he  cried,  "there  you  are,  bellusin' 
away  like  a  bagpiper.  What  an  iligant  thing  it  is  to  see 
such  poor  wretches  whistlin'  themselves  into  an  imitation 
of  comfort." 

"  How  do  you  know  but  I'm  crammed  full  of  real  com- 
fort, bad  luck  to  yer  mockin'  tongue  ?"  said  Bui  worthy, 
disgusted  at  the  other's  satisfied  demeanor. 

"  It's  pleased  I  am  to  see  your  foggy  moon  of  a  face, 
anyway,"  he  went  on.     "  Where's  me  shillin'  ?" 

"  Why,  you  poor,  miserable  attenuation  of  humanity, 
how  dare  you  address  yourself  to  me  in  that  orthodox 
manner  ?"  observed  Dan,  with  an  ambitious  attempt  at  Bui' 
worthy's  magniloquence. 

"  Miserable,  eh  ?"  replied  the  other,  with  a  chirp.  "  Is  it 
me  miserable,  wid  such  a  home  as  this  ?" 

"  It's  all  over,"  thought  Dan,  "  the  ould  brute's  as  happy 
as  a  bird.  Bad  luck  to  the  minute  that  my  own  pelt  mado 
a  cage  for  him." 

"  Go  home,"  Bulworthy  continued,  with  a  grin.  "  Home 
to  yer  wretched  hospital  of  a  gazebo." 

"  Wretched !"    retorted    Dan,    "  you    wouldn't    call    it 


76  DAN 

wretched  if  you  saw  the  dinner  I  had  to-day  ;  enough,  yor 
sowl  to  glory,  to  satisfy  half  a  dozen  families." 

"  That  were  starvin'  around  you,"  cried  Bulworthy,  with 
a  severe  internal  spasm,  induced  by  the  mention  of  the 
dinner. 

"  Aha  !  you're  beginnin'  to  think  of  that  now,  are  you  ?" 
said  Dan,  tauntingly.  "  How  do  you  like  dinin'  on  spoon- 
fuls of  air,  and  rich  men's  promises  to  pay  ?  Bedad,  I'm 
thinkin  I  have  the  best  of  you  there." 

"  Hould  yer  prate,  you  ould  Turk,  an'  give  me  me  shil- 
lin',"  roared  Bulworthy,  getting  impatient. 

"  The  divil  a  shillin'  you  get  out  o'  me,  that  I  can  tell 
you.  I've  got  the  upper  hand  of  ye  this  time,  an'  I'll  keep 
it.  It's  hungry  enough  that  you've  seen  me  before  now, 
an'  tit  for  tat's  fair  play  all  the  world  over." 

"He's  content  and  comfortable,  there's  no  mistake  about 
that,"  thought  Bulworthy,  "  and  I'm  booked  for  starvation 
all  the  rest  of  my  miserable  days." 

"  Gout's  my  lot ;  I  can  see  that  with  half  an  eye,"  said 
Dan  to  himself.  "  The  ould  blaggard  will  never  consent  to 
get  into  these  legs  again." 

"  Squire !"  cried  the  cobbler,  suddenly,  "  do  you  know 
that  the  hunger  sometimes  puts  desperate  thoughts  into  a 
man's  head  ?  You  owe  me  a  shillin'.  I  want  something 
to  ate.     Are  you  goin'  to  give  it  to  me  ?" 

"  Supposin'  I  didn't  ?"  said  Dan,  coolly. 

"  Bad  luck  attind  me  if  I  don't  shake  it  out  o'  you,  you 
iron-hearted  ould  Craysus,"  replied  the  other,  doggedly. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  you  thryin'  that,"  said  Dan,  flourishing 


AND      WHAT      CAME      OF      IT.  77 

a  huge  blackthorn  stick  dangerously.  "  You're  wake  wid 
the  want,  an'  I'm  sthrong  wid  vittles  an'  wine.  It's  aisy  to 
foretell  whose  head  would  be  cracked  first." 

"  Oh,  murdher,  Squire,  jewel,  it's  right  that  you  are,  for 
I  am  just  as  wake  as  wather  itself,  an'  the  jaws  of  me  is 
fairly  rustin'  in  their  sockets  for  the  w^ant  of  dacent  exer- 
cise," cried  the  now  subdued  Bulworthy.  "  For  the  tindher 
mercy  of  goodness,  then,  av  you've  got  the  laste  taste  ov 
compassion  in  yer  throat,  give  us  a  thrifle,  av  it  was  only 
the  price  ov  a  salt  herrin'  or  a  rasher  o'  bakin'." 

"  Oh,  ho  !  it's  there  you  are,"  thought  Dan,  as,  rendered 
more  hopeful  by  this  injudicious  outburst,  he  assumed  a 
still  more  severe  aspect. 

"  It's  good  for  you  to  feel  that  way,"  said  he,  "  an'  it's 
mighty  little  else  you  can  ever  expect  while  you're  throub- 
lin'  the  earth,  you  impidint  cobbler.  Look  at  me,  you  un- 
grateful thief  o'  the  world — what's  all  your  hungry  nib- 
blin's  compared  wid  the  sharp  tooth  that's  perpetually 
gnawin'  at  my  exthremities  ?  To  be  sure,  the  jingle  of  the 
goold  here  in  my  pockets,  keeps  the  pain  undher  consid- 
herably." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  groaned  Bulworthy.  "  Oh,  av 
there  was  only  a  market  for  fools,  wouldn't  I  fetch  a  high 
price?" 

"  Purvided  that  it  wasn't  overstocked,"  said  Dan,  with  a 
mental  addition,  which  he  wisely  kept  to  himself,  as,  sup- 
pressing the  violent  pain  he  was  suftering,  he  burst  into  a 
merry  laugh  at  the  doleful  appearance  of  his  companion 
in  distress.     "  Cheer  up,  man  alive,"  cried  he,  through  his 


78 


enforced  joyousness ;  "  take  example  by  your  neighbors, 
and  content  yourself  wid  your  condition.  I'm  sure  it's  a 
mighty  agreeable  one.  See  how  comfortable  I  am,  an' 
there's  no  knowin'  what  a  numberless  conglomeration  of 
annoyances  men  in  my  responsible  station  have  to  put  up 
wid." 

"  Why,  then  it's  aisy  for  you  to  chat,"  replied  Bulwor 
thy,  bitterly,  "  wid  your  belly  full  of  prog,  rattlin'  yer 
money  in  yer  pockets,  and  greggin'  a  poor  empty  Christian 
wid  the  chink ;  but  av  you  had  only  dined  wid  me  to-day, 
you  wouldn't  be  so  bumptious,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Me  dine  wid  you,  is  it  ?  bedad,  an'  that's  a  good  joke," 
said  Dan,  with  another  explosion  of  laughter.  "  Ho,  ho  ! 
my  fine  fella,  av  jokes  was  only  nourishin',  what  a  fine  feed 
of  fun  you  might  have,  to  be  sure." 

"Oh,  then,  by  the  king  of  Agypt's  baker,  that  was 
hanged  for  makin'  his  majesty's  loaf  short  weight — the 
divil's  cure  to  him — it's  starved  I'd  be  that  w^ay  too,  for 
the  fun's  pinched  right  out  o'  me,"  replied  the  Squire,  in  a 
melancholy  tone. 

"  Why,  you  don't  mane  to  be  tellin'  me  that  you're  un- 
happy in  yer  present  lot  ?"  Dan  asked,  in  the  hope  of  com- 
ing to  the  point  at  once. 

"  Where  would  be  the  use  in  sayin'  I'm  not  ?"  replied 
the  other,  cautiously. 

"Only  just  for  the  pleasure  of  gettin'  at  the  thruth." 

"  Bedad,  he'd  be  a  wise  man  that  could  crack  that  egg. 
If  it  comes  to  that,.how  do  you  like  them  legs  o'  yours  ? 
It  isn't  much  dancin'  you  do  now,  I'm  thinkin'. 


AND     WHAT     GAME     OF     IT.  79 

"  Well,  not  a  great  dale,  seein'  that  it's  a  foolish  sort  of 
exercise  for  a  man  of  my  consequence,"  said  Dan,  shaking 
the  guineas  about  in  his  pockets  with  increased  vigor. 

"  An'  how  do  you  find  the  Misthress's  timper  now,  might 
I  ax  ?"  inquired  Bulworthy,  with  a  meaning  look. 

"  Aisy  as  an  ould  glove,  I'm  obliged  to  you,"  Dan  replied, 
with  wondrous  placidity  of  countenance. 

"Peg,  my  Peg's  a  real  blessin'  in  a  house  ;  an'  as  for 
that  jewel  of  a  babby  " — 

"Howld  yer  decateful  tongue,  you  circumventin'  ould 
tory,"  cried  Dan,  shaking  his  fist  in  the  other's  face,  ren- 
dered almost  beside  himself  by  the  allusion  to  his  lost 
treasures ;  "  do  you  mind  this,  you  chatin'  disciple,  av  you 
dare  to  brag  ov  havin'  any  property  in  them  two  people 
I'll  give  your  dirty  sowl  notice  to  quit  the  tinimint  that  it's 
insultin'  every  second  o'  time  you  dhraw  a  breath." 

"  How  can  you  help  yerself,  I'd  like  to  know  ?"  demand- 
ed Bulworthy,  in  an  insolent  tone.  "  Doesn't  Peg  belong 
to  me  now,  an'  the  child  ?" 

"  Be  the  mortial  o'  war,  av  ye  don't  stop  your  tongue 
from  waggin'  in  that  way,  bad  luck  to  me  av  I  don't  take 
ye  be  the  scruff  o'  the  neck,  an  shake  ye  out  o'  me  skin, 
you  robber,"  shouted  Dan,  still  more  furiously — unfortu- 
nately losing  sight  of  his  discretion  in  the  blindness  of  his 
rage,  for  Bulworthy,  thinking  he  saw  a  gleaming  of  hope, 
determined  to  pursue  his  advantage  ;  so  he  continued  : 

"  The  devil  a  toe  will  you  ever  come  near  them  again, 
my  fine  fella.  Possession's  nine  points  of  the  law ;  an'  as 
it's  your  own  countenanv^e  that  I'm  carryin',  you  can't 
Bwear  me  out  o'  my  position."      More  betoken,  there's  no 


80  DAN      D  U  F  F^  6      WISH, 

use  in  yer  gettin'  obsthropulous,  for  I've  only  to  dhrop  the 
lapstone  gingerly  upon  yer  toes,  to  make  you  yell  out  like 
a  stuck  pig." 

At  hearing  these  conclusive  words,  Dan's  policy  and  his 
philosophy  fled  together,  and  he  poured  forth  the  feelings 
of  his  heart  without  concealment  or  restraint. 

"  You  murdherin'  ould  vagabone,"  he  cried ;  "  you've 
got  the  upper  hand  of  me,  an'  full  well  you  know  it ;  the 
divil  take  yer  dirty  money,  that's  weighin'  down  my 
pockets ;  but  weighin'  my  heart  down  more  nor  that,  av  it 
wasn't  that  I  don't  know  exactly  what  harum  I'd  be  doin' 
to  meself ;  may  I  never  sin  av  I  wouldn't  pelt  the  life  out 
o'  you  wid  fistfulls  of  it;  but  it  sarves  me  right,  it  sarves 
me  right,"  he  went  on,  swaying  his  body  to  and  fro,  as  he 
sat  on  the  little  stool.  "  Oh  !  wirra,  wirra !  what  a  born 
natheral  I  was  to  swap  away  my  darlin'  Peg,  that's  made 
out  of  the  best  parts  of  half  a  dozen  ^ngels,  for  that 
wizen-faced  daughter  of  ould  Nick  beyont ;  an'  the  blessed 
babby,  too,  that's  so  fresh  from  the  skies  that  the  smell  o' 
Heaven  sticks  about  him  yet ;  to  get  nothin'  for  him  but 
a  pair  of  legs  that  can't  lift  me  over  a  tkranieen  ;  oh  !  it's 
mad  that  it's  dhrivin'  me,  intirely." 

"  Don't  take  it  so  much  to  heart ;  gruntin',  and  growlin', 
an  twistin'  yerself  into  a  thrue  lover's  knot,  won't  do  any 
good  now,  you  know,"  said  Bulworthy,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  I  know  it  won't,  and  that's  what  makes  me  desperate," 
replied  Dan,  starting  up,  with  clenched  teeth,  and  a  danger- 
ous glance  in  his  eye. 

"  One  word  for  all,"  he'  continued,  "  are  you  going  to 
give  me  back  meself?" 


AND     WHAT     cam;:     OF     IT.  81 

"  I'd  be  a  purty  fool  to  do  that,  accordin'  to  your  own 
story,"  said  the  other,  calmly,  now  tolerably  sure  of'  his 
ground. 

"  Then  Heaven  forgive  me,  but  here  goes,"  cried  Dan, 
resolutely.  "  Peg,  jewel,  it's  for  your  sake  an'  the  child  ;  I 
can't  live  widout  yez,  anyhow,  an'  so  I  may's  well  thravel 
the  dark  road  at  oncet." 

"  What  do  you  mane,  you  wild-lookin'  savage  ?"  shouted 
Bulworthy,  as  he  saw  the  other  advance  threateningly 
towards  him. 

"  I  mane  to  thry  and  squeeze  the  breath  out  ov  you,  or 
get  meself  throttled  in  the  attempt,"  said  Dan,  sternly ; 
*'I  know  that  I'm  no  match  for  you  now,  bad  'cess  to 
your  podgey  carcass  that  I'm  obleeged  to  carry,  whether 
I  will  or  no;  come  on,  you  thief  o'  the  world,  come 
on ;  it  doesn't  matther  a  sthraw  which  of  us  is  sint  into 
kingdom  come,  only  it's  mighty  hard  for  me  to  have 
the  since  knocked  out  o'  me  by  me  own  muscles." 

So  saying,  he  put  forth  all  the  strength  he  could  muster, 
and  clenched  Bulworthy  manfully;  short,  but  decisive 
was  the  struggle,  for  the  superior  vigor  of  the  latter, 
enabled  him  to  shake  oflP  Dan  like  a  feather,  and  when 
he  rushed  again  to  the  attack,  Bulworthy  seized  the 
ponderous  lapstone,  and  raising  it  at  arm's  length,  let  its 
whole  force  descend  upon  Dan's  unprotected  head,  crushing 
him  down  prone  and  senseless  as  though  he  had  been 
stricken  by  a  thunderbolt. 

It  was  some  time  before  Dan  returned  to  full  conscious- 
ness ;  but  when  he  did,  what  was  his  intense  delight  to 

4* 


82  DAN    duff's    W  I  s  u  , 

« 

find  Peggy  bending  over  him,  tenderly  bathing  a  trilling 
wound  in  his  head. 

"  Hurrah,  Peg !  it  is  back  I  am  to  myself  in  airnest," 
lie  cried.  ''  Give  us  a  bit  of  the  lookin'-glass,  darlin' ;  oh  ! 
the  butch erin'  rufiian,  what  a  crack  he  gev  me  on  me 
skull." 

"  Whisht,  don't  talk,  Dan,  acush,"  said  Peggy,  in  a  low, 
musical  voice ;  "  shure,  its  ravin'  you've  been,  terrible  ;  oh  1 
that  whisky,  that  whisky  !" 

A  sudden  thought  flashed  across  Dan's  mind,  which 
he  judiciously  kept  to  himself;  and,  inasmuch,  as  the 
reader  may,  without  much  exercise  of  ingenuity  ima- 
gine what  that  thought  was,  the  narrator  will  be  silent, 
also. 

It  will  be  no  abuse  of  confidence,  however,  to  say 
that  the  lesson  Dan  received,  did  him  good,  for  he  never 
was  known  to  rei^ine  at  his  lot,  but,  redoubling  his  exer- 
tions, was  enabled,  after  a  few  years  had  elapsed,  to  sport 
his  top-boots  on  Sundays,  and  Peggy  to  exhibit  her  silk 
"  gound,"  as  well  as  the  purse-proud  Squire  and  his  gay 
madame,  over  the  way. 


THE 
BLAKNEY    STONE. 


Oh,  did  you  ne'er  hear  of  the  Blarney, 
*Tis  found  near  the  banks  of  KiUarney, 
Believe  it  from  me,  no  girl's  heart  is  free. 
Once  she  hears  the  sweet  sound  of  the  Blarney. 

LoTsa. 


"  I  TELL  you,  Mike,  agra !  it's  no  manner  o'  use,  for  do  it 
I  caa't,  an'  that's  the  long  an'  the  short  of  it." 

"  Listen  at  him,  why  it  isn't  bashful  that  you  are,  eh, 
Ned,  avic  ?" 

"  Faix,  an'  I'm  afeard  it  is." 

"  Gog's  hleakey  !  why,  they'll  put  you  in  the  musayum 
along  wid  the  marmaids  an'  the  rattlin'  sneaks ;  a  bashftd 
Irishman!  why,  a  four-leaved  shamrogue  'ud  be  a  mutton- 
chop  to  that,  man  alive." 

"  So  they  say  ;  but  I've  cotch  the  complaint  anyway." 

"  Well,  tear  an  aigers,  I  never  heerd  the  likes ;  it  makes 
me  mighty  unhappy,  for  if  modesty  gets  a  footin'  among 
us  it'll  be  the  ruin  of  us  altogether.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
but  some  of  them  retirin'  cockneys  has  inoculated  us  with 
the   affection,   as   they   thravelled   through   the   country. 


S4  THE      B  L  A  i:  N  £  Y      STONE. 

Well,  an'  tell  us,  how  d'you   feel  whin   you're  blushin' 
Ned  ?" 

"  Arrah !  now  don't  be  laughin'  at  me,  Mike ;  sure  we 
can't  help  our  wakeness — it's  only  before  her  that  the 
heart  of  me  melts  away  intirely." 

"  Never  mind,  anc ;  shuro  it's  a  good  man's  case  any- 
way ;  an'  so  purty  Nelly  has  put  the  comether  over  your 
sinsibilities  ?" 

"  You  may  say  that,  Mike,  aroon.  The  niver  a  bit  of 
sinse  have  I  left,  if  it's  a  thing  that  I  iver  happened  to  have 
any;  an'  now,  Mike,  without  jokin',  isn't  it  mighty  quare 
that  I  can't  get  the  cowardly  tongue  to  wag  a  word  out  o' 
my  head  when  her  eye  is  upon  me — did  you  iver  see  Nel- 
ly's eye,  Mike  ?" 

"  Scores  o'  times." 

"  May-be  that  isn't  an  eye  ?" 

"  May-be  there  isn't  a  pair  of  thim,  since  you  come  to 
that  ?" 

''The  divil  such  wick^d-lookin'  innocince  iver  peeped 
out  of  the  head  of  a  Christian  afore,  to  my  thinkin'." 

"  It's  nothin'  but  right  that  you  should  think  so,  Ned." 

"  Oh,  Mike !  to  me,  the  laugh  that  bames  out  of  thim, 
whin  she's  happy,  is  as  good  to  a  boy's  feelin's  as  the  soft- 
est sun-ray  that  iver  made  the  world  smile  ;  but  whin  she's 
sad — oh,  murdher,  murdher  !  Mike — whin  them  wathery 
dimonds  flutthers  about  her  silky  eye-lashes,  or  hangs  upon 
her  downy  cheek,  like  jew  upon  a  rose-lafe,  who  the  divil 
could  endure  it  ?  Bedad,  it's  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  stand 
up  agin  them  merry  glances ;  but  when  her  eye  takes   to 


THE     BLARNEY      STONE.  85 

the  wather,  be  the  powers  of  war,  it  bothers  the  navigation 
of  my  heart  out  an'  out." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  Ned." 

"An' thin  her  mouth!  Did  you  iver  obsarve  Nelly's 
mouth,  Mike  ?" 

"  At  a  distance,  Ned." 

"  Now,  that's  what  I  call  a  rale  mouth,  Mike  ;  it  doesn't 
look  like  some,  only  a  place  to  ate  with,  but  a  soft-talkin', 
sweet-lovin'  mouth,  wid  the  kisses  growin  in  clusthers 
about  it  that  nobody  dare  have  the  impudence  to  pluck  off, 
eh!  Mike?" 

"  Howld  your  tongue,  Ned." 

"  If  Nelly's  heart  isn't  the  very  bed  of  love,  why  thin 
Cupid's  a  jackass,  that's  all.  An'  thin  her  teeth  ;  did  you 
notice  thim  teeth  ?  why  pearls  is  pavin'-stones  to  them  ; 
how  they  do  flash  about,  as  her  beautiful  round  red  lips 
open  to  let  out  a  voice  that's  just  for  all  the  world  like 
talkin'  honey,  every  word  she  says  slippin'  into  a  fellow's 
soul,  whether  he  likes  it  or  not.  Oh  !  Mike,  Mike,  there's 
no  use  in  talkin',  if  she  isn't  an  angel,  why  she  ought  to  be, 
that's  all." 

"  You're  mighty  far  gone,  Ned,  an'  that's  a  fact.  It's 
wonderful  what  a  janius  a  boy  has  for  talkin'  nonsense 
when  the  soft-emotions  is  stirrin'  up  his  brains.  Did  you 
ever  spake  to  her  ?" 

"  How  the  divil  could  I  ?  I  was  too  busy  listenin' ;  an' 
more  betoken,  between  you  an'  me,  the  rale  truth  of  the 
matter  is,  I  couldn't  do  it.  Whether  it  was  bewitched  I 
was,  or  that  my  sinses  got  dhrounded  wid  drinkin'  in  her 


86  THE     BLARNEY      STONE. 

charms,  makin'  a  sort  of  a  mouth  of  my  eve,  I  don't  know, 
but  ev'ry  time  I  attempted  to  say  somethin',  my  tongue, 
bad  luck  to  it,  staggered  about  as  if  it  was  corned,  an'  the 
dinl  a  word  would  it  say  for  itself  bad  or  good," 

"  Well,  now,  only  to  think.  Let  me  give  you  a  word  of 
advice,  Ned ;  the  next  time  you  see  her,  take  it  aisy,  put  a 
big  stone  upon  your  feelin's  an'  ax  about  the  weather ;  you 
see  you  want  to  bowlt  out  all  you  have  to  say  at  once,  an' 
your  throat  is  too  little  to  let  it  through." 

"  Be  the  mortial,  an'  that's  a  good  advice,  Mike,  if  I  can 
but  folly  it.  This  love  is  a  mighty  quare  affection,  ain*t 
it?" 

"  Thremendious.     I  had  it  oncet  myself." 

"  How  did  you  ketch  it  ?" 

"  I  didn't  ketch  it  at  all.     I  took  it  natural." 

"  And  did  you  ever  get  cured,  Mike  ?     Tell  us." 

"  Complately." 

"How?" 

"  I  got  married." 

"Oh !  let  us  go  to  work." 


From  the  foregoing  characteristic  conversation  between 
Mike  Riley  and  his  friend,  Ned  Flynn,  it  would  appear 
pretty  evident  that  the  blind  boy's  shaft, 

"  Feathered  with  pleasure  and  tipped  with  pain," 

was  fast  embedded  in  the  heart  of  the  latter,  or  in  plaine. 
and  not  less  expressive  phrase,  he  was  bothered  entirely 
by  Miss  Nelly  Malone. 


THE     BLARNEY      STONE.  .87 

During  an  interval  of  rest  from  mowing,  the  dialogue 
took  place ;  that  over,  they  resumed  their  labor ;  the  con- 
valescent "  married  man  "  humming  a  sprightly  air,  which 
kept  time  to  the  stroke  of  his  scythe,  while  the  poor 
wounded  deer,  Ned,  came  in  now  and  then  with  an  accom- 
paniment of  strictly  orthodox  sighs. 

It  certainly  was  a  most  extensive  smite  on  the  part  of 
pretty  Nell ;  and  a  nobler  heart  never  beat  under  crimson 
and  gold,  than  the  honest,  manly  one  which  now  throbbed 
with  the  first  ardor  of  a  passion  pure  and  unselfish.  A 
short  time  longer,  and  they  rested  again.  Ned  was  sad 
and  silent ;  and  the  never-forgotten  respect,  which  makes 
suffering  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  an  Irish  peasant,  kept  Mike 
mute  also  ;  at  last,  Ned,  with  a  half  downcast,  whole  sheep- 
ish expression,  said,  the  ghost  of  a  smile  creeping  over  his 
features : 

"  Mike,  do  you  know  what  ?" 

"What?"  said  Mike. 

"  I've  writ  a  song  about  Nelly." 

*'  No,"  rejoined  his  friend,  with  that  ambiguous  emphasis 
which  might  as  well  mean  yes.  Adding,  with  dexterous 
tact,  "Is  it  a  song?  An'  why  the  mischief  shouldn't 
you  ;  sure  an'  haveti't  you  as  illigant  a  heart  to  fish  songs 
up  out  as  anybody  else  ?     Sing  us  it." 

"  I'm  afeard  that  you'll  laugh  if  I  do,  Mike." 

"  Is  it  me  ?"  replied  Mike,  so  reproachfully  that  Ned 
was  completely  softened.  After  the  making-your-mind-up 
minute  or  two,  with  a  fine,  clear  voice,  he  sung. 


88  THE     BLAR^sEY      STONE. 


THE   ROSE   OF   TRALEE. 

All  ye  sportin'  young  heroes,  wid  hearts  light  an'  free. 
Take  care  how  you  come  near  the  town  of  Tralee ; 
For  the  witch  of  all  witches  that  iver  wove  speU 
In  the  town  of  Tralee,  at  this  moment  does  dwell. 
Oh,  then,  don't  venture  near  her,  be  warned  by  me, 
For  the  divil  all  out  is  the  Rose  of  Tralee. 

She's  as  soft  an'  as  bright  as  a  young  summer  mom, 

Her  breath's  like  the  breeze  from  the  fresh  blossom'd  thorn, 

Her  cheek  has  the  sea  shell's  pale  delicate  hue, 

And  her  lips  are  like  rose  leaves  just  bathed  in  the  dew ; 

So,  then,  don't  venture  near  her,  be  warned  by  me, 

For  she's  mighty  desthructive,  this  Rose  of  Tralee. 

Oh  I  her  eyes  of  dark  blue,  they  so  heavenly  are 
Like  the  night  sky  of  summer,  an'  each  holds  a  star  ; 
Were  her  tongue  mute  as  silence,  man's  life  they'd  control ; 
But  eyes  an'  tongue  both  are  too  much  for  one's  sovX. 
Young  men,  stay  at  home,  then,  and  leave  her  to  me, 
For  I'd  die  with  delight  for  the  Rose  of  Tralee. 


And  nowy  after  this  toploftical  illustration  of  the  state  of 
Ned's  feelings,  and  inasmuch  as  they  are  about  to  resume 
their  labor,  let  us  leave  them  to  their  mowing,  and  see 
after  Miss  Nelly  Malone,  for  love  of  whom  poor  Ned  had 
taxied  of  the  Pierian  spring. 

In  a  neat  little  chamber,  bearing  about  it  the  unmis- 
takable evidence  of  a  tidy  woman's  care,  sits  the  individual 
herself,  her  little  fingers  busily  employed  in  knitting  a  very 
small  stocking — her  own  ;  no  trace  of  wealth  is  to  be  seen 
in  this  humble  abode,  but  of  its  more  than  equivalent, 
comfort,  it  is  redolent.     At  the  open  casement  there  peep 


THE     BLARNEY      STONE.  89 

Id  the  blossoms  of  the  honey-suckle  and  the  sweet-pea, 
filling  the  air  with  a  perfume,  more  grateful  than  art  could 
ever  obtain ;  sundry  artless  prints,  and  here  and  there  a 
ballad  on  some  heart-breaking  subject,  probably  amongst 
them  the  highwayman's  autoballadography,  wherein  he 
heroically  observes, 

*'  I  robbed  Lord  Mansfield,  I  do  declare, 
And  Lady  Somebody  in  Grosvenor  Square," 

are  fastened  to  the  walls,  decorated  with  festoons  of  cut 
paper  of  most  dazzling  variety  of  color ;  a  fine,  plump,  con- 
tented lark,  in  an  open  cage,  which  he  scorns  to  leave, 
returns  his  mistress's  caress  with  a  wild,  grateful  song, 
whilst,  tutored  into  friendliness,  a  beautiful  sleek  puss, 
whose  furry  coat  glances  like  satin  in  the  sun-ray,  dozes 
quietly  upon  the  window-sill,  indulging  in  that  low  purr, 
which  is  the  sure  indication  of  a  happy  cat.  It  is  the 
home  of  innocence  and  beauty,  fitly  tenanted. 

And  what  are  pretty  Nelly's  thoughts,  I  wonder;  a 
shade  of  something,  which  may  be  anxiety  or  doubt,  but 
scarce.ly  sorrow,  softens  the  brightness  of  her  lovely  face. 
She  speaks,  'twill  be  no  treason  to  listen.  You  will  per- 
ceive that  the  cat  is  her  confidante — a  discreet  one  it  must 
be  confessed. 

"  It's  foolishness,  so  it  is  ;  isn't  it  puss  ?" 

Puss  doesn't  condescend  to  notice  the  remark. 

"  Now,  Minny,  isn't  it,  I  ask  you,  isn't  it  folly,  the  worst 
of  folly  to  be  thinkin'  of  one  who  doesn't  think  of  me  ?  I 
won't  do  it  any  more,  that  I  won't.     Heigh  'ho  !  I  wonder 


90  THE     BLARNEY     STONE. 

if  he  loves  me.  I  somehow  fancy  he  does,  and  yet  again 
if  he  did,  why  couldn't  he  say  so ;  there's  one  thing  certain, 
and  that  is,  I  don't  love  him,  that  is  to  say,  I  wonH  love 
him ;  a  pretty  thing,  indeed,  to  give  my  heart  to  one  who 
wouldn't  give  me  his  in  return.  That  would  be  a  bad 
bargain,  wouldn't  it,  puss  ?" 

Pussy  acquiesced,  for  silence,  they  say,  is  synonymous. 

"  But,  oh !"  resumed  Nelly,  "  if  I  thought  he  did  love  me 
— there,  now,  I've  dropped  a  stitch — what  am  I  thinkin'  of? 
— I  mustn't  give  way  to  such  foolishness.  Why,  the  bird  is 
done  singin',  and  Minny  is  looking  angry  at  me  out  of  her 
big  eyes — don't  be  jealous,  puss,  you  shall  always  have 
your  saucer  of  milk,  whatever  happens,  and — hark !  that's 
his  step,  it  is !  he's  comin' !  I  wonder  how  I  look,"  and 
running  to  her  little  glass,  Nelly,  with  very  pardonable 
vanity,  thought  those  features  could  not  well  be  improved, 
and — the  most  curious  part  of  the  matter — she  was  right. 

"  He's  a  long  time  coming,"  thought  she,  as,  stealing  a 
glance  through  the  white  window-curtain  she  saw  Ned 
slowly  approach  the  garden  gate ;  gladly  would  she  have 
flown  to  meet  him,  but  maidenly  modesty  restrained  her ; 
now  he  hesitates  a  moment,  takes  a  full  gulp  of  breath, 
and  nears  the  house;  at  every  approaching  step,  Nelly's 
pulse  beat  higher ;  at  last  she  bethought  herself  it  would 
be  more  prudent  to  be  employed ;  so,  hastily  taking  up  her 
work,  which  was  twisted  and  ravelled  into  inextricable 
confusion,  with  a  seeming  calm  face  she  mechanically  plied 
her  needles,  her  heart  giving  one  little  shiver  as  Ned 
rapped  a  small,  chicken-livered  rap  at  the  door.     Nelly 


THE     BLABNEY     STONE.  91 

opened  it  with   a  most  disingenuous,  "  Ah  !  Ned,  is  that 
you  ?  who  would  have  thought  it !     Come  in,  do." 

The  thermometer  of  Nelly's  feelings  was  about  fever 
heat,  yet  she  forced  the  index  to  remain  at  freezing  point. 
"  Take  a  chair,  won't  you  ?" 

And  there  sat  those  two  beings,  whose  hearts  yearned 
for  each  other,  looking  as  frigid  as  a  pair  of  icicles,  gazing 
on  the  wall,  the  floor,  pussy,  or  the  lark.     Ned  suddenly 
discovered  something  that  wanted  a  deal  of  attending  to  in 
the  band  of  bis  hat ;  whilst  Nelly,  at  the  same  time,  evinced 
an  extraordinary  degree  of  affection  for  the  cat.     To  say 
the  truth,  they  were  both  very  far  from  comfortable.     Ned 
had  thoroughly  made  up  his  mind  to  speak  this  time  if 
ruin   followed,    and    had    even   gone  so   far   as   to   have 
settled  upon  his  opening  speech,  but  Nelly's  cold  and  indif- 
ferent "take  a  chair,"  frightened  every  word  out  of  his 
head ;  it  was  essentially  necessary  that  he  should  try  to 
recover  himself,  and  he  seemed  to  think  that  twisting  his 
hat  into  every  possible  form  and  tugging  at  the  band  were 
the  only  possible  means  by  which  it  could  be  accomplished. 
Once  more  all  was  arranged,  and  he  had  just  cleared  his 
throat   to   begin,  when   the   rascally  cat'  turned   sharply 
round  and  stared  him  straight  in  the  face,  and  in  all  his 
hfe  he  thought  he  never  saw  the  countenance  of  a  dumb 
creature  express  such  thorough  contempt. 

"  It  well  becomes  me,"  thought  he,  "  to  be  demeanin' 
myself  before  the  cat,"  and  away  flew  his  thouo-hts  ao-ain 

"  so* 

Of  course,  all  this  was  very  perplexing  to  Nelly,  who,  in 
the  expectation  of  hearing  something  interesting,  remained 


92  THE     BLARNEY     STONE. 

patiently  silent.  There  was  another  considerable  pause; 
at  last,  remembering  his  friend  Mike's  advice,  and,  more- 
over, cheered  by  a  most  encouraging  smile  from  the 
rapidly-thawing  Nell,  Ned  wound  up  his  feelings  for  one 
desperate  effort,  and  bolted  out — 

"  Isn't  it  fine  to  day,  Miss  Malone  ?" 

Breaking  the  silence  so  suddenly  that  Nelly  started 
from  her  chair,  the  lark  fluttered  in  the  cage,  and  puss 
made  one  jump  bang  into  the  garden. 

Amazed  and  terrified  by  the  results  of  his  first  essay, 
fast  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth  Ned's  tongue  stuck  once 
more,  and  finding  it  of  no  earthly  use  trying  to  overcome 
his  embarrassment — that  the  more  he  floundered  about  the 
deeper  he  got  into  the  mud,  he  gathered  himself  up,  made 
one  dash  through  the  door,  and  was  ofl"  like  lightning. 
Nelly  sighed  as  she  resumed  her  knitting,  and  this  time 
she  was  sad  in  earnest. 

"  Well,  what  luck  ?"  said  Mike,  as,  nearly  out  of  breath 
from  running,  Ned  rejoined  him  in  the  meadow.  "  Have 
you  broke  the  ice  ?" 

"Bedad,  I  have,"  said  Ned,  "  and  more  betoken,  fell  into 
the  wather  through  the  hole." 

"  Why,  wouldn't  she  listen  to  you  ?" 

**  Yes,  fast  enough,  but  I  didn't  give  her  a  chance  ;  my 
ould  complaint  came  strong  upon  me.  Ora !  what's  the 
use  in  havin'  a  tongue  at  all,  if  it  won't  wag  the  words  out 
of  a  fellow's  head.  I'm  a  purty  speciment  of  an  omad- 
haun  ;  there  she  sot,  Mike,  lookin'  out  of  the  corners  of  her 
eyes  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say,  spake  out  like  a  man,  with 


THE     BLARNEY      STONE,  93 

a  soft  smile  runnin'  about  all  over  her  face,  and  playing 
among  her  beautiful  dimples,  like  the  merry  moonbame 
dancin'  on  the  lake.  Oh,  murther !  Mike,  what  the  mis- 
chief am  I  to  do?  I  can't  live  without  her,  an'  I  haven't 
the  heart  to  tell  her  so." 

"  Well,  it  is  disgraceful,"  replied  Mike,  "  to  see  a  good- 
lookin'  man  disparage  his  country  by  flinchin  from  a  purty 
girl ;  may-be  it  might  do  you  good  to  go  an'  kiss  the  Blar- 
ney Stone." 

"  That's  it,"  exclaimed  Ned,  joyously  clapping  his  hands 
together,  and  cutting  an  instinctive  caper,  "  that's  it.  I 
wonder  I  niver  thought  of  it  before ;  I'll  walk  every  stitch 
of  the  way,  though  my  legs  should  drop  off  before  I  got 
half  there.     Do  you  think  it  'ud  do  me  good  to  kiss  it  ?" 

"  Divil  a  doubt  of  it — sure  it  never  was  known  to  fail 
yet,"  said  Mike,  oracularly. 

"  Why,  then,  may  I  niver  ate  a  male's  vittles,  if  there's 
any  vartue  in  the  stone,  if  I  don't  have  it  out  of  it."  And 
that  very  night,  so  eager  was  Ned  to  get  cured  of  his  bash- 
fulness,  off"  he  started  for  Killarney.  It  was  a  long  and 
tedious  journey,  but  the  thought  of  being  able  to  speak  to 
Nelly  when  he  returned,  was  suflScient  to  drive  away 
fatigue  ;  in  due  time  he  reached  the  far-famed  castle, 

"  On  the  top  of  whose  wall, 
But  take  care  you  don't  fall, 
There's  a  stone  that  contains  all  the  Blarney  1" 

Mike  climbed  with  caution,  discovered  the  identical  spot, 
and  believing  implicitly  that  his  troubles  were  now  at  an 


94  THE     BLARNEY     STONE, 

end,  knelt,  and  with  a  heart-whole  prayer  for  his  absent 
Nelly,  reverently  kissed  The  Blarney  Stone. 

True,  devoted  love  had  lent  him  strength  to  overcome 
the  diflaculties  of  access,  and  imagination,  that  powerful 
director  of  circumstance,  did  the  rest.  It  was  with  humility 
and  diffidence  he  had  approached  the  object  of  his  pil- 
grimage, but  he  descended  from  it  with  head  erect  and 
countenance  elated  ;  he  could  now  tell  his  burning  thoughts 
in  her  ear ;  he  was  a  changed  man  ;  a  very  pretty  girl,  who 
officiated  as  guide,  and  upon  whose  pouting  lips,  report 
says,  the  efficacy  of  the  charm  has  been  frequently  put  to 
the  test,  met  him  at  the  archway  of  the  castle — for  no  other 
reason  in  the  world  than  merely  to  try  if  he  were  suffi- 
ciently imbued  with  the  attractive  principle — Xed  watched 
an  opportunity,  and,  much  more  to  his  own  astonishment 
than  to  hers,  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss,  starting  back  to  watch 
the  effect.  She  frowned  not,  she  did  not  even  blush.  Ned 
was  delighted ;  his  end  was  obtained, 

"  He  could  kiss  who  he  plazed  with  his  Blarney  ;"  con- 
sequently, feeling  supremely  happy,  without  losing  another 
moment,  he  retraced  his  steps  homeward. 

Meantime,  Nelly  missed  her  silent  swain,  whose  absence 
tended  materially  to  strengthen  the  feeling  of  aflection 
which  she  entertained  for  him ;  day  after  day  crept  on, 
yet  he  came  not ;  and  each  long  hour  of  watching  riveted 
still  more  closely  her  heart's  fetters.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  she  acknowledged  to  herself  how  essenldal  he  was  to 
her  happiness,  and  with  a  fervent  prayer  that  the  coming 
morning  might  bring  him  to  her  side,  she  closed  each  day. 


THE     BLARNEY      STONE.  96 

Her  wonder  at  last  at  his  continued  absence  quickened 
into  anxiety,  and  from  anxiety  into  alarm.  Jealousy,  with- 
out which  there  cannot  be  a  perfect  love,  spread  its  dark 
shadow  o'er  her  soul,  and  she  was  wretched.  In  vain  she 
reasoned  with  herself;  the  sun  of  her  existence  seemed 
suddenly  to  be  withdrawn,  and  all  was  gloom  ;  even  the 
very  bird,  appearing  to  share  his  mistress's  mood,  drooped 
his  wing  and  was  silent  ;  so  much  are  externals  influenced 
by  the  spirit  of  the  hour,  that  her  homey  chamber  felt 
comfortless  and  solitary.  Nelly  loved  with  a  woman's  love, 
devotedly,  intensely,  wholly  ;  to  lose  him  would  be  to  her 
the  loss  of  all  that  rendered  life  worth  liWng  for  ;  hers 
was  an  affection  deserving  that  which  was  given  in  lieu, 
although  as  yet  she  knew  it  not. 

Gazing  out  one  day  in  the  faint  hope  of  seeing  some- 
thing of  her  beloved,  her  heart  gave  one  sudden  and  tre- 
mendous bound.  She  saw  him — he  had  returned  at  last. 
But  how  changed  in  demeanor.  Can  her  eyes  deceive 
her  ?  No.  Her  heart  tells  her  it  is  he,  and  it  could  not 
err. 

Instead  of  the  downcast  look  and  hesitating  step,  joy 
laughed  forth  from  his  face,  and  his  tread  was  easy,  rollick- 
ing, and  careless ;  as  he  came  nearer,  she  thought  she 
heard  him  sing ;  he  did  sing  !  what  could  it  portend  ? 
Had  he  found  one  who  knew  how  to  break  the  shell  of 
reserve  ?  'Twas  torture  to  think  so,  and  yet  it  was  the 
first  image  that  presented  itself  to  her  anxious  heart.  It 
was  now  her  turn  to  be  tongue-tied,  dumb  from  agitation ; 
she  could  not  utter  a  syllable,  but  trembling  to  the  very 


96  THE     BLARNEY     STONE. 

core,  sat  silently  awaiting  what  she  feared  was  to  prove  the 
funeral  knell  of  her  departed  happiness. 

With  a  merry  song  upon  his  lips,  Ned  lightly  bounded 
over  the  little  paling,  and  in  a  minute  more  was  in  her 
presence.  Speak  or  move  she  could  not,  nor  did  his  first 
salutation  place  her  more  at  ease. 

"  Nelly,"  said  he,  "  you  drove  me  to  it,  but  it's  done !  it's 
done !" 

"  What's  done — what  can  he  mean  ?"  thought  Nelly, 
more  agitated  than  ever. 

"  It's  all  over  now,"  he  continued,  "  for  I've  kissed  it. 
Don't  you  hear  me,  Nelly  ?     I  say  I've  kissed  it." 

"In  heaven's  name,"  cried  the  pale,  trembling  girl, 
**  what  do  you  mean — kissed  who  ?" 

"  No  who  at  all,"  said  Ned,  laughingly,  "  but  it^  I've 
kissed  ity 

"  Kissed  what  V^ 

"  Why,  the  Blarney  Stone,  to  be  sure,"  screamed  out 
Ned,  flinging  his  hat  at  pussy,  and  executing  an  extremely 
complicated  double-shuffle  in  the  delight  of  the  moment; 
indeed,  conducting  himself  altogether  in  a  manner  which 
would  have  jeopardized  the  sanity  of  any  one  but  a  love- 
stricken  Irishman. 

"  Sure  it  was  all  for  you,  Nelly,  mavourneen,  that  I  did 
it ;  it  has  loosened  the  strings  of  my  tongue,  and  now  I 
can  tell  you  how  deeply  your  image  is  burnin'  within  my 
very  heart  of  hearts,  you  bright-eyed,  beautiful  darling  !" 

What  more  he  said  or  did,  it  will  be  unnecessary  for  me 
to  relate  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  the  world-renowned  talis- 


THE     BLAKNEY      STON]-:.  9T 

man  lost  none  of  its  efficacy  on  this  particular  occasion. 
One  observation  of  pretty  Nell's,  I  think  is  worthy  of 
record.  At  the  close  of  a  most  uninteresting  conversation, 
to  anybody  but  themselves,  tho  aflfectionate  girl  whispered 
to  him : 

*'  Dear  Ned,  you  neednH  have  gone  sofar!" 
The  course  of  true  love  sometimes  does  run  smooth,  a 
great  authority  to  the  contrary,  nevertheless,  for  in  about 
three  weeks'  time,  the  chapel  bells  rang  merrily  for  the 
wedding  of  Edward  and  Nelly.  Aye,  and  what's  more, 
neither  of  them  had  ever  cause  to  regret  Ned's  visit  to 
The  Blarney  Stone, 


98  THE     GOSPEi.     CMAKM. 


THE   GOSPEL    CHAKM 


A  FINER  lookmg  fellow  could  not  be  met  with  in  a  day's 
walk  than  Gerald  Desmond,  the  only  son  of  the  wealthy 
widow  Desmond,  her  pride  and  sole  comfort;  tall  and 
strikingly  handsome,  he  had  that  buoyant,  reckless  air  and 
continuous  flow  of  spirits  which  would  indicate  the  pos- 
sessor of  a  heart,  over  whose  welfare  the  gales  of  adversity 
had  but  lightly  swept. 

At  the  period  which  commences  my  narrative,  he  is 
holdinof  an  animated  conversation  with  his  foster-brother 
and  fast  friend,  Frank  Carolan.  Frank  is  also  a  fine, 
manly  specimen  of  humanity,  much  more  humbly  dressed 
than  his  companion,  yet  still  with  a  something  of  supe- 
riority about  him,  which  would  prevent  a  stranger  from 
passing  by  without  a  second  look.  The  substance  of  their 
conversation  may  afford  a  key  to  their  pursuits  and  feel- 
ings. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  Biddy  Magra.  I  tell  you  she's 
not  "to  be  compared  to  Judy  Murphy,"  said  Gerald. 

"  May-be  she  isn't,  and  then  again,  may-be  she  is,"  very 
logically  replied  Frank,  with  the  manner  of  one  who  did 


THE     GOSPEL     CHARM.  99 

not  exactly  like  to  contradict  his  superior,  or  altogether 
give  up  his  own  opinion. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  prettier  girl  than  Judy  ?"  inquired 
Gerald. 

"  Hum  !  It  strikes  me  that  I  have,  once  or  twice,"  said 
Frank,  which  was  very  probable,  seeing  that  he  had  the 
prettiest  girl  in  the  county  for  a  sister,  a  fact  which  Gerald 
well  knew,  although,  as  yet,  he  hardly  dared  to  acknow- 
ledge it  to  himself. 

"  No  you  haven't — you  couldn't,  there  isn't,  there  shan't 
be  anything  to  equal  her  within  a  hundred  miles,"  con- 
tinued Gerald,  partly  for  the  sake  of  argument,  and  partly 
because  he  really  did  think  so  at  the  moment.  "  And  if  I 
could  only  bring  myself  to  abandon  the  delicious  society 
of  the  chai-ming  sex,  and  concentrate  the  affections  of 
Gerald  Desmond  upon  one  individual,  she  would  be  the 
enviable  person." 

"  So  you've  said  to  every  decent-lookin'  colleen  that 
came  near  you  ever  since  you've  had  a  heart  to  feel. 
You're  as  changeable  as  the  moon." 

"  I  was,  I  was ;  but  now  I'm  fixed,  settled,  constant  as 
the  sun." 

"  Mighty  like  the  sun,  that  has  a  warm  beam  for  eveiy 
planet,  or  may-be  more  like  a  parlor  stove,  that  burns  up 
any  sort  of  coal.     You'll  never  be  steady  to  one,  Gerald." 

"  Well,  we'll  see.  I've  loved  Judy  three  weeks  without 
stopping,  and  that's  a  good  sign ;  but  I'm  going  to  have  a 
game  at  loo,  and  top  up  with  a  jollification ;  you  must 
come  along,  Frank." 


100  THE      GOSPEL      CHAKM. 

"  No,  no,  master  Gerald ;  it's  well  enough  for  you 
golden-spoon  folks  to  Avaste  time,  but  I  am  one  of  the 
unfortunate  wooden-ladle  people.     I  must  go  to  work." 

"  Work  !  Hang  work,"  cried  Gerald,  who  never  suffered 
an  obstacle  to  remain  which  opposed  his  will  or  pleasure. 
*'You  needn't  want  money  while  I'm  with  you,  Frank. 
Come,  only  this  once ;  deuce  take  it,  let  us  enjoy  the 
present,  and  let  to-morrow  look  out  for  itself.  I  shan't  ask 
you  again — only  this  oncey 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Frank,  irresolutely,  "  I'll  go,  but 
remember,  'tis  only  for  this  once." 

"  Only  for  this  once."  How  often,  without  thinking 
of  its  awful  import,  has  this  lie  been  uttered !  Let  the 
soul  but  for  once  diverge  from  the  appointed  path,  how 
difficult  to  return !  But  when  to  each  seductive  voice 
which  beckons  from  the  way-side,  the  victim  cries,  I  shall 
enjoy  thee  but  for  once,  'tis  led  so  far  astray,  through  such 
deep  windings  and  such  adverse  mazes,  that  when  it  w-ould 
retrace  its  steps,  the  consequences  of  each  evil  deed  have 
so  obscured,  planted  with  thorns,  or  destroyed  the  road, 
'tis  the  finger  of  infinite  mercy  alone  which  can  conduct  it 
safely  back. 

Gerald,  Desmond  and  his  foster-brother  passed  that 
night,  as  too  many  had  been  passed  before,  in  drunkenness 
and  riot. 

Now,  although  engaged  in  the  same  vicious  employ- 
ment, there  was  great  difference  in  the  actuating  principles 
of  these  two  young  men.  Gerald,  as  yet  unchecked  by 
reason,  was  at  this  time  an  uncompromising  roue,  plunging 


THE      GOSPEL      C  ^I  A  *R  M  .  101 

in  eveiy  degree  of  dissipation,  with  a  heart  resolved  to 
drain  the  cup  of  enjoyment  to  the  very  dregs,  and  have  it 
filled  and  filled  again.  Whereas,  Frank's  easy,  yielding 
disposition,  acted  upon  by  the  charm  of  companionship 
and  the  circumstances  of  the  moment,  caused  him  to  be 
placed  in  such  situations,  actually  against  his  better  judg- 
ment ;  association  only  leading  him  into  vicious  scenes, 
which  a  lack  of  prudential  resolution  prevented  him  from 
being  able  to  avoid.  In  fact,  Gerald  invariably  said, 
yes!  and  Frank,  had  not  sufficient  self-command  to  say, 
no! 

The  strong  friendship  which  frequently  attends  the  ad- 
ventitious relationship  of  foster-brotherhood,  brought  them 
almost  always  together,  and  as  Gerald,  from  his  position, 
was  naturally  the  leader,  their  lives  were  passed  in  a  con- 
tinual round  of  miscalled  amusement. 

However,  as  we  often  find  that  when  very  hear  friends 
quarrel,  it  is  with  a  bitterness  more  than  equal  to  their 
former  kindliness  of  feeling,  so  it  was  with  Gerald  and 
Frank.  They  fell  out,  during  one  of  their  drinking  encoun- 
ters ;  something  trivial  commenced  it,  but  one  word  brought 
on  another,  until  the  little  spark  swelled  to  a  flame,  and  the 
poor  remains  of  reason,  left  uninjured  by  the  liquor,  were 
scorched  to  fury  in  the  fire  of  anger.  The  difference  in 
their  dispositions  evinced  itself  powerfully.  Gerald,  foam- 
ing with  rage,  was  violent  and  ungovernable,  while  Frank, 
whose  mind  was  infinitely  superior,  was  cool  and  calm, 
though  inly  suffering  from  suppressed  choler. 

"  Where,"  exclaimed  the  former,  dashing  his  hand  on 


102  THE      GOSPEL      CHARM. 

-^  :'•">: 

the  table,  "  where  would  you  have  been  now,  were  it  not 
for  me  ?" 

"  AVhere  ?"  replied  Frank,  with  a  smile  which  looked 
real ;  "  why,  in  my  bed,  dreaming  quiet  dreams  ;  a  thing  I 
shall  never  do  again." 

"  Whose  fault  is  that  ?" 

"  Yours,"  said  Frank,  sternly  regarding  him,  "  yours.  Is 
this  my  place  ?  Would  I  have  been  here  of  my  own  will  ? 
No — you  led  me  step  by  step  from  content  into  this  brutal 
degradation." 

"  But  you  had  your  wits  about  you,"  fiercely  retorted 
Gerald  ;  "  this  is  my  thanks  for  condescending  to  make  you 
my  companion  ;  the  base  blood  is  in  you ;  ingratitude  is 
the  sure  sign  of  the  low-born." 

Frank's  cheeks  flushed  crimson,  his  teeth  ground  togeth- 
er, and  the  blood  rushed  to  his  head  with  a  bound  ;  after  a 
moment's  pause,  he  replied,  with  a  terrible  eflfort  to  be 
calm,  "  Gerald  Desmond,  I  am,  as  you  say,  low-born,  but 
not  base  ;  a  son  of  toil,  but  no  slave ;  a  poor,  but  still  an 
independent  man ;  nursed  in  poverty,  I  own  that  I  am  no 
fit  company  for  you.  My  hand  would  bear  no  comparison 
with  yours ;  'tis  labor-hardened,  while  yours  is  lady-soft, 
and  yet,  if  our  hearts  were  put  into  the  scale,  I  mistake 
much  if  the  overweight  would  not  make  up  the  difierence." 

Annoyed  by  the  quiet  coolness  of  his  manner,  Gerald 
lost  all  control. 

"  You  poor,  miserable  child  of  beggary,"  he  cried, 
"  avoid  my  sight.  Leave  me.  Dare  to  cross  my  path 
again,  and  I  shall  strike  you  to  my  feet." 


THE     GOSPEL      OHARM.  103 

At  these  words  Frank  smiled  ;  it  was  a  small  but  most 
expressive  smile ;  Gerald  felt  its  influence  in  his  very- 
brain. 

"  I'll  do  it  now,"  he  screamed,  foaming  with  rage,  and 
springing  full  at  Frank's  throat ;  but  he  calmly  disengaged 
himself,  and  with  one  eSbrt  of  his  tremendous  strength, 
took  Gerald  up  in  his  powerful  arms,  and  could  have  dashed 
him  to  the  ground,  but  contented  himself  with  quietly 
replacing  him  in  the  chair,  exclaiming — 

"  Learn  to  forgive,  Gerald  Desmond,  and  condescend  to 
accept  a  lesson  from  your  inferior.  Farewell,"  and  ere  the 
other  could  reply,  maddened  as  he  was  by  rage  and  morti- 
fication, he  was  gone. 

"  The  ruffian  !"  savagely  exclaimed  Gerald.  "  If  I  don't 
wring  his  heart  for  this  may  I  inherit  everlasting  torture." 

How  he  fulfilled  his  oath  we  shall  see  in  time. 


In  no  very  enviable  mood,  Frank  Carolan  sought  his 
humble  home  ;  bitterly  he  repented  ever  having  known 
Desmond,  and  firmly  he  resolved  to  give  up  all  acquaint- 
ance which  had  grown  out  of  this  association,  and  depend 
for  the  future  upon  his  own  honest  exertions.  Brave  re- 
solve, seriously  and  sacredly  intended  at  the  time,  as  all 
good  resolutions  usually  are. 

The  only  being  that  Frank  cared  for  in  the  world  was 
his  sister  Mary — a  bright  and  beautiful  young  creature,  just 
bursting  into  womanhood,  graceful  as  a  wild  fawn,  and  as 


IOtI:  t  II  j:    g  o  s  p  ;:  l     charm. 

timid  :  unselfishly  and  wholly,  with  a  most  absorbing  love, 
he  loved  her.  Upon  reaching  home,  he  found  her  in  tears, 
grieving  for  his  prolonged  absence,  for  it  was  early  morn- 
ing;  but  the  nioment  he  appeared,  the  rain-drops  of  sor- 
row fled,  ar  1  joy's  own  bright  ray  sparkled  in  her  face 
once  mo'  o. 

"Where  have  you  been  so  late,  dear  Frank?"  she  mar- 
mured,  as  he  kissed  her  dewy  eyes. 

"  Where,  I  solemnly  promise,  my  own  Mary,  never  to  go 
again." 

"  You  were  with  Gerald  Desmond,  were  you  not  ?" 

*'  I  was  !     But  he  and  I  are  brothers,  friends,  no  longer." 

"  The  sainta  be  praised  for  it,"  fervently  cried  his  sister. 
"  There  is  something  about  Desmond's  eyes  that  frightens 
me.  'Tis  good  for  neither  of  us  that  he  should  be  too 
near." 

"  Has  he  been  here,  Mary  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  several  times,  but  only  to  inquire  for  you," 
she  added,  hastily. 

"  You  must  avoid  him,  Mary,  for  he  is  a  serpent ;  there's 
a  fascination  about  that  man  that  even  I  cannot  resist.  He 
has  destroyed  me  ;  lured  me  from  my  contented  humbleness 
to  taste  of  luxury  ;  and  now,  like  the  beast  which  has  once 
drunk  of  blood,  'twill  be  hard  for  me  to  avoid  the  seduc- 
tive banquet.      Shun  him,  Mary,  for  your  brother's  sake." 

"  Dear  Frank,  doubt  me  not,"  firmly  replied  Mary.  ''  If 
you  do  fear  my  womanly  weakness,  I  here  swear,  by  this 
blessed  Gospel  Charm  my  mother  placed  around  my  neck, 
before  she  died,  never  to  do  the  deed  which  shall  cause  her 


THE      GOSPEL     OHARM.  105 

spirit   to   frown,  or   my  brother's   cheek    to    glow    with 
shame." 

"  My  bright-eyed,  beautiful  Mary,  I  believe  you.  God 
bless  you,  core  of  my  heart ;  'tis  for  your  well-doing  only 
I  exist,"  fervently  exclaimed  Frank.  "  Go  to  your  rest, 
darling ;  'tis  the  last  time  it  shall  be  broken  by  me ;  to- 
morrow shall  find  me  a  new  man.     Good  night." 

Mary  retired,  and  her  brother  felt  relieved  at  heart,  for  a 
more  solemn  oath  could  not  be  imagined  than  that  which 
she  had  sworn.  The  Gospel  Charm,  which  consists  of  a 
text  from  Scripture,  selected  and  consecrated  by  the  priest, 
is  held  to  be  of  peculiar  efficacy,  and  a  promise  made  by  it 
is  scarcely  ever  known  to  be  broken. 

No  man  ever  went  to  bed  with  a  more  fixed  determina- 
tion to  begin  a  new  and  better  life  on  the  morrow  than 
did  Frank,  and  yet  that  very  morrow  saw  his  resolution 
shaken,  nay,  altogether  abandoned.  During  the  night  a 
plan  of  terrible  revenge  had  been  conceived  by  Gerald 
Desmond,  and  to  carry  out  his  design,  it  was  necessary 
that  the  breach  between  him  and  Frank  should  be  appa- 
rently healed  up. 

Frank  began  the  day  well,  cultivating  his  little  farm,  inly 
rejoicing  in  his  emancipation  from  evil  society,  and  glow- 
ing with  that  proud  self  gratification  which  the  exercise  of 
industrious  habits  ever  produces.  In  the  midst  of  this 
happy  feeling,  who  should  he  perceive  but  Gerald  Des- 
mond rapidly  approaching?  His  first  impulse  was,  as 
usual,  right.  "  I  will  not  listen  to  him,"  he  thought,  retir- 
ing in  an  opposite  direction,  when  he  was  arrested  by  tlie 
liilarious  voice  of  Gerald  calling  to  him: 


106  THE      GOSPEL      CHARM. 

"  Frank,  my  friend  !  my  brother,  will  you  not  forgive  1" 

The  tones  reached  into  his  inmost  heart ;  he  paused  for 
an  instant,  but  'twas  enough — Gerald  reached  him,  and, 
looking  cordially  in  his  face,  held  forth  his  hand.  Frank 
grasped  it  earnestly,  and  ere  many  moments  had  elapsed 
their  friendship  was  renewed,  with  full  sinceiity  by  one, 
and  crafty  dissimulation  by  the  other.  Alas  for  good  in- 
tentions, when  unassisted  by  Heaven's  pardoning  grace  1 
The  vitiating  practices  of  former  days  were  again  indulged 
in,  and  all  Frank's  so  seemingly  virtuous  resolutions  were 
drowned  in  the  accursed,  soul-enslaving  drink. 

Some  few  days  after  this  reconciliation,  Gerald  took 
Frank  aside,  and  having  first  bound  him  to  secrecy,  thus 
began  to  unfold  his  design. 

"  Frank,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "I  am  in  great  need  of  your 
assistance  ;  will  you  give  it  to  me  ?" 

"That  will  I,  Gerald,"  uttered  Frank,  "with  all  my 
heart." 

"  Nay,  but  you  must  promise  to  do  so,  even  though 
against  your  inclination ;  it  is  a  matter  of  the  most  vital 
moment  to  me  ?" 

"  If  I  can  help  you,  I  will." 

"  Say  that  you  will,  for  I  know  you  can." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will,  whatever  it  is." 

"  Enough.  Then  you  must  know  that  I  have  a  little 
affair  of  the  heart." 

"  Another  ?" 

"  The  last,  as  I  am  a  true  lover ;  all  I  want  you  to  do  is 
to  write  a  note  for  me.     I  am  fearful  that  my  own  hand- 


THE     GOSPEL     CHABM.  107 

writinof  would  be  known,  added  to  which,  I  have  disabled 
my  fingers  by  an  accident." 

"Yes,  but  may  I  not  know  who  the  object  is?"  inquired 
Frank. 

"  Come,  come,  you  wouldn't  ask  that.  It  would  be  dis 
honorable  in  me  to  tell  you  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  she  is  a 
lovely  creature,  young,  innocent,  and  confiding.  I  have 
everything  arranged  to  carry  her  off  this  very  night." 

"  You  mean  to  marry  her,  of  course  ?"  said  Frank,  seri- 
ously. 

"  Marry  ?"  laughingly  replied  Gerald  ;  "  come,  that's  a 
devilish  good  joke  ;  do  you  see  any  symptoms  of  insanity 
about  me  ?  No,  no,  I  mean  to  honor  her  with  my  society 
for  a  few  months,  and  then  " — 

"  Then  cast  her  off",  to  the  scorn  of  an  uncharitable 
world.  Gerald,  friend,  pause  a  moment,  think  !  I  know 
your  heart  is  not  entirely  rotten." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  have  thought,  reasoned  with  myself, 
but  all  to  no  avail ;  one  word  for  all.  'Tis  necessary  to  my 
happiness  that  I  should  possess,  this  girl.  You  pretend  to 
be  my  friend  ;  will  you  prove  it  by  doing  this  small  service 
for  me  ?" 

Good  intent  said  no,  but  irresolution  stepped  in  as  usual, 
and  all  was  lost. 

"  Dictate,"  said  Frank,  sadly  ;  "  'tis  sorely  against  my 
inclination,  but  rather  than  you  should  doubt  my  friend- 
ship, I  will  do  it." 

"  Good  fellow,"  delightedly  exclaimed  Gerald ;  "  now, 
let  me  see  ;  we  must  use  stratagem.     Begin — 


108  THE      GOSPEL      CHAKM. 

«  '  Dear  Maiy.'  " 

At  the  mention  of  that  name,  Frank  gave  an  involuntary 
shudder.  He  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of  Gerald,  but 
they  returned  his  gaze  without  a  change  of  expression,  and 
the  monstrous  thought  was  smothered  in  its  birth. 

"  Have  you  written  '  Dear  Mary  V  "  said  Gerald,  calmly. 

"  I  have  !  go  on." 

" '  Business  of  a  sudden  and  imperative  nature  calls  me 
away.  I  shall  need  your  presence  and  ad\dce ;  trust  your- 
self unhesitatingly  to  the  man  who  delivers  this ;  he  is  my 
dearest  friend.' " 

"  Whom  is  this  supposed  to  come  from  ?"  inquired 
Frank. 

"  Oh,"  said  Gerald,  carelessly,  "  from  her  brother." 

"  Her  brother !  has  she  then  a  brother  ?  God  in  heaven 
help  him  f  Ah !  Gerald,  this  is  frightful ;  let  me  entreat 
of  you  to  abandon  your  intent;  think  of  the  load  of 
misery  the  indulgence  of  one  evanescent,  selfish  gratifica- 
tion will  entail  on  all  this  poor  girl's  friends;"  and  Frank 
knelt  and  took  Gerald's  hand  in  his.  For  an  instant,  all 
the  good  in  the  heart  of  the  latter  floated  to  the  surface, 
but  he  thought  of  the  degradation  he  had  endured,  and 
revenore  sank  it  down  ao^ain. 

o  o 

"Come,  come,"  he  cried,  "no  more  sermons  if  you 
please ;  you  have  obliged  me  so  much  that  I  can  scarcely 
tell  you,  and  now  remain  here  until  I  return.  I  shall  not 
be  long ;  there's  a  bottle  of  Inishowen,  sugar,  lemons,  and 
hot  water ;  make  yourself  quite  at  home.  Depend  upon 
it,  you  shall  soon  be  amply  repaid  for  all  you  have  done 


THE     GOSPEL     C  U  A  R  M  .  109 

for   me."     So  saying,  he  went   out,  and  Frank  was  left 
alone. 

Half  an  hour,  an  hour,  passed  away,  and  Gerald  did  not 
return.  In  spite  of  himself,  sad,  fearfully  sad  thoughts 
brooded  over  Frank's  spirits.  In  vain  he  resorted  to  the 
stimulant  so  lavishly  provided  for  him  ;  the  more  he  drank, 
the  more  terrible  were  the  imaginings  which  crowded  into 
his  very  heart  and  brain ;  at  last,  unable  longer  to  endure 
the  suspense,  and  actuated  by  an  impulse  for  which  he 
could  not  account,  he  suddenly  started  up  to  return  home 
— what  was  his  surprise  to  find  the  door  locked?  He 
rushed  to  the  window — it  was  strongly  secured.  A  vague, 
indefinite  sensation  of  terror  crept  through  his  frame — he 
was  a  prisoner,  for  what  purpose — great  heaven !  if  it 
should  be  that  to  which  his  imagination  sometimes  pointed, 
only  to  be  abandoned  again  from  its  very  intensity  of 
horror.  He  screamed  aloud — echo  only  answered  him. 
Lost,  bewildered,  almost  bereft  of  reason,  now  would  he 
pace  rapidly  to  and  fro ;  now  stand  stone  still.  The  live- 
long night  he  remained  in  that  lonely  chamber,  a  prey  to 
every  torture  that  could  reach  the  soul  of  man — minutes 
swelled  into  days,  a  long  year  of  common-place  existence 
was  compressed  into  those  few  hours.  He  prayed,  cursed, 
raved  alternately,  nor  could  the  fearful  quantity  he  drank 
drown  reasoa  in  forgetfulness.  Slowly  the  dim  grey  of 
morning  began  to  break — anon,  the  gleesome  lark  flew 
upward  to  greet  the  sun  with  his  matin  song,  and  yet  no 
sign  of  Gerald.  The  door  was  at  last  unlocked — Frank 
rushed  through,  and  with   instinctive   dread    sought   his 


110  THE     GOSPEL     CHAKM. 

home.  Scarcely  pausing  to  draw  breatli,  in  a  state  of 
utter  exhaustion  he  reached  the  cottage,  burst  open  the 
door,  and  flew  into  the  room — it  was  empty ! 

"  Mary,  Mary !"  he  cried,  in  choking  accents,  but  her 
soft  voice  did  not  reply ;  looking  round,  his  eye  suddenly 
rested  on  an  open  letter;  it  was  his — most  completely  had 
the  fiend  triumphed.  At  his  own  suggestion,  the  being  to 
whom  his  very  soul  was  linked  had  given  herself  up  to  the 
power  of  the  seducer.  The  following  words  were  written 
in  pencil  on  the  outside  : — 

♦  She's  mine,  willingly  mine,  thanka  to  thy  kindly  help. 
Physician,  cure  thyself— now  '  Learn  to  forgive.'* 


It  having  been  shown  that  Gerald's  diabolical  scheme, 
60  far  as  the  abduction  went,  was  carried  out  with  entire 
success,  pass  we  now  a  month.  Gerald  has  established 
himself  in  the  capital,  having  provided  Mary  with  an 
elegant  suite  of  apartments,  under  the  same  roof  with  him- 
self, although  not  immediately  adjoining.  His  behavior 
to  her  was  studiously  kind,  tempered  with  thorough 
respect ;  hoping  by  such  means  slowly  and  insiduously  to 
reach  his  aim  through  the  medium  of  her  own  affection. 

Poor  Mary  herself  hardly  dared  to  think ;  for  her  tem- 
perament was  of  that  soft  and  womanly  nature,  which 
rendered  it  impossible  for  her  to  contend  energetically 
against  the  assaults  of  the  world — that  most  beautiful  of 
all  female  characteristics,  which  is  content  to  look  up  to 
and  to  reverence,  yearning  for  some  natural  support  and 


THE      GOSPEL      CHAKM.  Ill 

protection,  and  clinging  to  it  when  discovered  with  an 
enduring  tenacity,  only  to  be  found  in  such  a  woman's 
love. 

To  all  her  inquiries  concerning  Frank,  Gerald  answered 
evasively,  but  to  her  satisfaction  ;  still  treating  her  with 
the  greatest  possible  show  of  reserve  and  kindness,  his 
manner  imperceptibly  increasing  in  fervor  day  by  day — 
letting  it  be  inferred  more  by  his  looks  than  words  that 
she  was  dearer  to  him  than  he  dared  to  acknowledge. 
The  consequence  of  this  specious  manoeuvering  began 
gradually  to  make  itself  evident  in  the  state  of  Mary's 
feelings.  Now  she  involuntary  hoped  for  his  coming — 
seriously  deploring  his  departure ;  his  fiend-like  intent  was 
in  a  fair  way  to  be  completed,  when  his  own  impetuosity 
destroyed  the  vile  fabric.  Encouraged  by  her  quiet,  pas- 
sive manner,  he  ventured  prematurely  to  unfold  his  guilty 
purpose.  Who  can  descabe  the  terrible  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing which  took  place  in  Mary's  soul  when  the  full  certainty 
of  his  guilty  design  was  made  apparent  ?  With  a  mighty 
effort  she  checked  the  burning  flood  of  passion  which 
swelled  up  from  her  heart,  and  subduing  herself  into  per- 
fect calmness,  listened  to  his  infamous  proposal.  A  deep 
hectic  glow  on  each  cheek,  and  a  slight  difficulty  in  respi- 
ration only  evidencing  her  intense  emotion.  What  more 
he  said  she  knew  not — heard  not — for  while  he  was  pour- 
ing forth  some  wild  rhapsody  she  was  in  deep  communion 
wi:h  her  soul.  Construing  her  submissive  silence  advan- 
tageously to  himself,  he  quitted  the  apartment.  The 
instant  he  left  her  presence,  the  pent  up  current  of  her 


112  THE      GOSPEL     CHAEM. 

feelings  burst  all  bounds.  She  flung  herself  upon  her 
knees  and  wept  a  prayer  of  agony — the  helpless,  almost 
hopeless  appeal  of  innocence  within  the  very  grasp  of  vice ; 
kissing  her  mother's  gift,  the  Gospel  Charm,  she  bathed  it 
in  tears,  imploring  it  to  save  her  from  this  dreadful  crisis. 
This  outpouring  of  her  spirit  calmed  and  soothed  her,  for 
in  her  extremity  there  came  a  thought  of  safety.  To  think 
was  to  resolve,  and  ere  many  moments  had  elapsed,  with  a 
firm  reliance  on  the  help  of  a  merciful  Providence,  Mary 
quitted  the  house.  It  was  nearly  midnight — dark  and 
bitterly  cold — yet  she  cared  not  for  the  darkness — felt  not 
the  chilling  blast ;  unknown  and  friendless,  she  knew  not 
where  to  go,  but  wandered  street  after  street,  satisfied  that 
she  was  away  from  him  who  had  so  cruelly  insulted  her. 
Hurrying  on,  she  knew  not  whither,  she  suddenly  came  in 
contact  with  a  well-known  form ;  recoiling  a  step  or  two, 
they  gazed  on  each  other  for  an^  instant.  'Twas  thus  met 
the  brother  and  his  sister.  That  chance  which  he  had  hun- 
gered for,  week  after  week,  had  occurred  at  last ;  seizing 
her  in  a  nervous  gripe,  Frank  dragged  her  to  the  nearest 
lamp.  "Mary,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  trembling  from 
suppressed  passion,  a  wild  fire  flashing  from  his  eyes,  "  are 
you  still  worthy  to  be  called  my  sister  ?" 

"  Brother,  I  am,"  meekly  replied  Mary. 

"  You  are  not  his  cast-away  ?" 

"  No  !  by  my  mother's  dying  gift." 

"  To  a  merciful  God  be  all  the  praise,"  fervently  cried 
Frank,  as  he  folded  her  to  his  heart  with  a -thrill  of 
rapture. 


THE     GOSPEL     CHARM.  113 

"My  own  blessed,  sorely-tempted  lamb  !  But  where  is 
he  ?  Come,  show  me  where  to  find  him.  He  shall  not 
escape.  'Tis  no  fault  of  his,  curse  him,  that  you  are  not 
foul  as  sin ;  lead  me  to  the  place." 

"Not  now,  dear  Frank,"  touchingly  exclaimed  Mary. 
"Perhaps  I  may  have  feared  more  wrong  than  was 
intended.  Who  is  there  amongst  us  that  can  say,  I  have 
never  harbored  an  evi  design  ?  Let  us  be  thankful  that 
the  wicked  hour  is  passed,  and  leave  the  punishment  in 
His  power  whose  province  it  is  to  judge  the  hearts  of 
men." 

"  Do  you  forgive  him  ?" 

"  From  my  inmost  soul,  and  more  for  his  sake  than  my 
own,  rejoice  that  his  bad  design  is  unaccomplished." 

"  You  love  him,  then  ?"  fiercely  inquired  Frank. 

Mary  was  silent. 

"  The  snake — the  fiend — had  you  not  been  all  angel,  the 
specious  villain  would  have  succeeded.  Mary,  I  will,  I 
must  see  him  ;  if  I  do  not  give  my  burning  thoughts  an 
utterance,  they  will  consume  my  very  heart." 

"  Let  it  be  to-morrow,  then,  dear  Frank." 

"  Be  it  so.  Come,  dear  one,  I  have  still  a  home  for  you ; 
a  pure,  though  lowly  one.  Had  you  been  guilty,  tempted 
as  you  were,  your  brother's  arms  would  never  have  closed 
against  you  ;  bnt  now  your  triumphant  innocence  will 
bless  with  happiness  our  frugal  meal,  and  make  your  hum- 
ble couch  a  bed  of  flowers. 

Upon  the  morrow  Frank  redeemed  his  word.  With  a 
heart  thirsting  for  revenge  he  sought  Gerald's  apartment, 


114  THE     GOSPEL     CHARM. 

but  did  not  meet  there  the  bold,  reckless  libertine  that  he 
expected.  Throwing  himself  at  Frank's  very  feet,  in  wild 
but  heart-uttered  tones,  Gerald  cried  : 

"  I  know  why  jou  have  come,  but  she  has  left  me ; 
know  you  anything  of  her  ?  Oh  !  for  heaven's  sake  relieve 
my  anxiety — you  have  not  harmed  her — upon  me,  wreak 
all  your  vengeance,  for  I  deserve  it,  but  she  is  pure,  pure 
as  the  spotless  snow.  My  base,  black-hearted  villainy  has 
recoiled  upon  myself.  I  would  have  destroyed  her,  and 
am  myself  destroyed  if  she  is  lost  to  me.  Say  but  that  she 
is  safe,  and  I'll  coin  my  very  heart  for  her  and  you." 

Softened,  subdued  by  the  now  evident  sincerity  of 
Gerald's  manner,  Frank  assured  him  of  her  safety. 

"  I  thank  thee,  merciful  heaven,"  fervently  cried  Gerald, 
"  that  one  sin  more  damning  than  the  rest  is  spared  my 
guilty  soul.  Mary,  beloved  Mary,  'tis  thy  angelic  virtue 
which  has  cmshed  the  fiend-spirit  that  has  hitherto  con- 
trolled my  sense.  'Tis  she,  and  she  only  can  protect  and 
guide  the  heart  which  her  innocence  has  reclaimed." 

''  What  do  you  mean,  Gerald  ?" 

"That  if  she  will  receive  in  marriage  this  guilty  but 
repentant  wretch,  it  may  be  that  the  destroyer  shall  have 
one  victim  the  less.  Frank,  dare  I  to  call  you  once  more 
brother  ?  Intercede  for  me,  will  you  not  ?  The  happiness 
of  my  life,  nay,  the  sole  hope  of  my  eternal  soul  rests  now 
with  her." 

Gerald's  repentance  having  been  proved  sincere,  it  was 
not  long  ere  Mary  yielded  a  heartful  assent  to  his  proposi- 
tion, and  as  Frank  at  the  holy  altar  delivered  her  over  to 


THE     GOSPEL     CHARM.  115 

the  sweet  custody  of  a  husband,  his  heart  whispered  to 
him  that  he  was  now  tasting  most  exquisite  revenge.  The 
sacred  influence  of  a  virtuous  love  haloed  the  after  lives  of 
Gerald  and  Mary  with  content  most  ample,  and,  although 
her  state  was  changed  from  humility  to  comparative  afflu- 
ence, she  never  laid  aside  her  mother's  parting  gift,  but 
regarding  it  as  her  protection  in  the  hour  of  danger,  still 
cherished  near  her  heart  The  Gospel  Charm. 


116  THE      TEST      OF     BLOOD 


THE   TEST   OF   BLOOD. 

"  Thou  Shalt  do  no  murder." 

"  You  won't  dance  with  rae,  Kathleen  ?" 

«  No,  Luke,  I  will  not." 

"  For  what  reason  ?" 

"  I  don't  choose  it.     Besides,  I'm  engaged  to  Mark  Dor 
mot." 

The  above,  very  slight  conversation  in  itself,  was  to  th( 
individuals,  full  of  the  greatest  import.  To  explain  it,  il 
will  be  necessary  to  take  a  Parthian  glance  at  our  subject. 
Kathleen  Dwyer  was  the  pretty,  spoiled,  village  pet,  with 
quite  sufficient  vanity  to  know  that  the  preference  was 
deserved.  Every  young  man  in  the  place  was  anxious  to 
pay  court  to  her,  and  sooth  to  say,  she  impartially  dis- 
pensed her  smiles  to  all,  reserving,  it  must  be  admitted,  her 
more  serious  thoughts  for  one  alone.  That  one  was  Luke 
Bryant,  and  as  he  really  loved  her,  the  flightiness  of  her 
conduct,  and  her  interminable  flirtations  gave  him  very 
great  uneasiness.  Often  and  often  would  he  reason  with 
her,  imploring  her  to  dismiss  the  crowd  of  purposeless 
suitors  that  ever  fluttered  round,  and  select  one,  even  though 
that  selection  would  doom  him  to  misery. 


THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD.  117 

"  No,  no  !"  the  little  madcap  would  say,  with  a  bright 
smile,  "  I  cannot  give  up  altogether  the  delight  of  having 
so  many  male  slaves  in  my  train  ;  they  are  useful,  and  if 
you  don't  like  it  you  know  your  remedy." 

"  But  do  you  think  it  is  right  ?"  he  would  say  ;  "  suppose 
there  may  be  some,  even  one  who  loves  you  truly,  to  lead 
him  on  by  the  false  light  of  your  encouraging  smile,  to 
perish  at  last  ?" 

"  Pshaw !"  would  she  answer,  "  men  are  not  made  of  such 
perishable  stuff." 

"  Well,  well,  Kathleen,  have  a  care ;  if  any  one  of  your 
numerous  admirers  feels  towards  you  as  I  do,  to  lose  you 
would  be  the  loss  of  everything.*' 

As  may  be  reasonably  supposed,  these  conversations 
usually  ended  in  a  little  tiff,  when  the  wild,  good-hearted, 
but  giddy-headed  girl  would  select  some  one  from  her  sur- 
rounding beaux,  to  play  off  against  Luke  ;  generally  pitch- 
>ng  upon  the  person  most  likely  to  touch  his  feelings  to 
the  very  quick;  herself,  the  while,  I  must  do  her  the  justice 
to  say,  quite  as  miserable  if  not  more  so,  than  her  victim. 

And  now  to  return,  let  me  describe  the  individual  whom 
she  has  this  time  chosen  to  inflict  torture  upon  her  lover, 
and  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  he  has  cause  for 
more  than  discontent. 

Mark  Dermot,  or,  as  he  was  most  generally  denominated. 
Black  Mark,  was  one  of  those  persons  we  sometimes  meet 
with  in  the  world,  on  whom  prepossessing  appearance  and 
great  natural  ability  are  bestowed,  only  to  be  put  to  .  the 
basest  possible  uses.     Character  he  had  none,  except  of  the 


118  THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD. 

very  worst  kind ;  his  ostensible  pursuit  was  smuggling,  but 
crimes  of  the  darkest  nature  were  freely  whispered  about 
him,  and  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  his  dashing  dare-devil 
nature  and  indomitable  impudence,  enabled  him  to  show 
himself  in  places  where,  although  his  evil  reputation  was 
well  known,  he  was  tolerated  either  from  supineness,  or 
more  likely  from  the  fear  of  his  enmity. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  then,  that  as  Luke  stood  by 
and  saw  this  ruffian  carry  off  his  soul's  beloved,  his  very 
heart  should  quake  from  apprehension.  He  was  unaware 
until  this  moment  that  she  ever  knew  him,  and  his  feelings, 
as  ever  and  anon  Mark  would  seem  to  whisper  something 
in  Kathleen's  ear,  to  which  she  would  seem  to  smile  an 
approval,  can  only  be  imagined  by  such  qf  my  readers,  if 
any  there  be,  who  have  seen  another  feeding  upon  smiles 
which  they  would  fain  monopolize. 

Jealousy  of  the  most  painful  nature  took  possession  of 
Luke ;  he  had  often  experienced  sensations  of  annoyance 
before,  but  never  to  this  extent.  Her  fame — her  character 
— were  compromised  ;  for  he  knew  Black  Mark  to  be  the 
very  worst  description  of  man  for  a  woman  to  come  in 
contact  with  at  all,  caring  nothing  for  the  ties  of  morality, 
or  for  the  world's  opinion — reckless,  bad-hearted,  and  more- 
over uncomfortably  handsome  in  the  eyes  of  a  lover. 

The  dance  now  over,  Luke  imagined  that  she  would  give 
up  her  partner  and  join  him;  but  no,  the  silly  girl  seemed 
proud  of  her  conquest,  and  to  take  a  sort  of  mad  delight 
in  wounding  Luke's  feelings  to  the  uttermost.  She  ap» 
proached  the  spot  where  Luke  with  folded  arms  was  stand- 


THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD.  119 

ing,  and  leaning  familiarly  upon  the  arm  of  Mark,  said 
(aughingly : 

"  Why  don't  you  dance,  Luke  ?  Come,  I'll  find  a  part- 
ner for  you." 

Galled  to  the  very  quick,  Luke  answered  with  asperity — 
"  Thank  you.  Miss  Dwyer,  you  have  found  one  for  your- 
self, and" — looking  at  Black  Mark,  as  a  jealous  lover  only 
can  look — "you  11  pardon  me,  but  I  don't  like  the  sample." 

Mark  regarded  him  with  a  scowl  of  the  deepest  malig- 
nity, while  Kathleen,  the  real  feelings  of  her  heart  kept 
down  by  coquetry,  exclaimed  with  a  laugh  : — 

"  Don't  mind  him,  Mark,  he's  only  jealous,  poor  fellow. 
Come,  will  you  not  dance  again  ?" 

"Aye,  and  again,  and  for  ever,"  impetuously  replied 
Mark;  "Come." 

And  as  they  went  to  rejoin  the  dancers,  Kathleen 
caught  the  expression  of  Luke's  features,  and  there  'saw 
so  much  misery  depicted,  that  she  would  have  given  worlds 
to  have  recalled  her  words.  She  yearned  to  implore  his 
forgiveness,  but  her  insatiable  appetite  for  admiration 
restrained  her.  "Never  mind"  thoug^ht  she,  "when  the 
dance  is  over,  I  can  easily  make  it  up  with  him,"  and 
away  she  went,  thinking  no  more  about  it. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  dance,  her  better  feelings  all 
predominating,  she  quitted  Mark  and  rushed  over  to  the 
place  where  Luke  had  been  standing,  but  he  was  gone ; 
with  that  unfeeling  speech  rankling  in  his  heart,  he  had 
left.  It  was  now  her  turn  to  be  miserable ;  not  all  the 
soft  speeches  that  were  poured  into  her  ear  had  power  to 


120  THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD. 

console  her,  but  her  annoyance  was  at  its  height  when 
Black  Mark,  presuming  upon  the  encouragement  which 
she  had  given  him,  seated  himself  beside  her,  and  in  ardent 
language  declared  himself  her  passionate  lover.  Poor, 
unthinking  Kathleen,  she  had  evoked  a  spirit  which  she 
had  not  power  to  quell. 

It  was  more  than  a  week  after,  before  Luke  could  bring 
himself  to  venture  near  Kathleen ;  but  finding  that  each 
succeeding  day  only  made  him  still  more  wretched,  he 
determined  to  know  his  fate  at  once,  and  with  a  sorely 
palpitating  heart  he  neared  her  abode,  lifted  the  latch,  and 
entered ;  the  first  sight  that  met  his  eyes  was  Mark  and 
Kathleen,  sitting  near  to  each  other,  the  deep  blush  that 
crimsoned  her  to  the  very  throat,  ennced  to  Luke  the 
interesting  nature  of  their  conversation.  She  could  not 
speak,  neither  could  he,  but  giving  her  one  look  which 
sank  into  her  very  brain,  he  left  the  place ;  in  vain  she 
called  after  him,  lie  turned  but  once — a  deep  curse  was  on 
his  lips  but  his  noble  heart  refused  to  sanction  it.  "  Fare- 
well, beloved  Kathleen,"  he  cried,  while  bitter  tears  flowed 
fast  as  he  spoke,  "  May  the  good  God  protect  you  now,  for 
you  will  need  it."  And  Luke  rapidly  strode  towards  the 
village,  inly  determining  to  go  to  sea  on  the  morrow,  and 
never  look  upon  her  or  his  loved  home  again. 

Meanwhile,  Kathleen,  apprehensive  that  he  would  do 
something  desperate,  implored  Mark  to  follow  and  bring 
him  back.  With  a  contemptuous  sneer,  he  answered, 
"  Do  you  think  I'm  a  fool  ?  No,  no  !  Kathleen,  you've 
gone  too  far  with  me  to  retract  now.     The  world  sees  and 


THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD.  121 

knows  our  intimacy;  the  only  barrier  to  our  happiness 
was  your  foolish  lover,  Luke — he  has  taken  the  sulks,  and 
gone  away — our  road  is  now  clear.  I  love  you  better  than 
a  hundred  such  milk-sops  as  he  could,  so  come — say  the 
word !" 

"  That  word,"  replied  Kathleen,  firmly,  "  shall  never  be 
said  by  me.'' 

"  Have  a  care,  girl !"  fiercely  retorted  Mark,  "  I'm  not  a 
man  to  be  trifled  with ;  you  have  led  me  to  believe  that 
you  liked  me,  and  you  shall  redeem  the  pledge  your  eyes 
at  least  have  given." 

"Never!  Mark  Dermot,  never!"  exclaimed  Kathleen, 
rising  from  her  seat ;  but  with  a  fierce  gesture,  and  a 
determined  fire  in  his  eye,  Mark  forced  her  down  again, 
saying,  in  a  clear,  but  terribly  earnest  manner  :  "  Kathleen, 
from  my  youth  up,  I  never  allowed  the  slightest  wish  of 
my  soul  to  be  thwarted ;  think  you  that  I  shall  submit  to 
be  led  or  driven,  coaxed  near,  or  sent  adrift,  at  the  caprice 
of  any  living  thing  ? — no  !  if  you  can't  be  mine  from  love, 
you  shall  from  fear ;  for,"  ratifying  his  threat  by  a  fearful 
oath,  "  no  obstacle  shall  exist  between  me  and  my  desire." 

"What  mean  you,  Mark  Dennot?"  cried  the  terrified 
girl. 

"No  matter,"  he  replied,  "the  choice  rests  with  you. 
You  cannot  deny  that  your  manner  warranted  me  in  soli- 
citing your  hand.  Remember,  love  and  hate  dwell  very 
near  each  other — the  same  heart  contains  them  both.  Be 
mine,  and  every  wish  of  your  soul  shall  be  anticipated — 
refuse  rae,  and  tremble  at  the  consequences." 

6 


122  THE      TEST      OF      BLOOD. 

"  Heaven  forgive,  and  help  me,"  inly  prayed  Kathleen, 
as  the  result  of  her  weak  conduct  now  made  itself  so 
awfully  apparent.  Thinking  to  enlist  some  good  feeling 
from  Mark's  g^^nerosity,  she  frankly  acknowledged  to  him 
that  her  affections  were  entirely  bestowed  upon  the  absent 
Luke. 

She  knew  not  the  demon-heart  in  which  she  had  trusted ; 
instead  of  inclining  him  to  mercy,  her  words  only  inflamed 
him  into  tenfold  rage. 

"  Vile  woman !"  he  exclaimed,  starting  to  his  feet. 
"Have  you  then  been  making  a  scoff  and  jest — a  play- 
thing and  a  tool  of  me  ?  Better  for  you  had  you  raised  a 
fiend  than  tampered  with  me  thus.  How  know  I  that  you 
do  not  lie,  even  now,  woman-devil  ?  One  w^ord  for  all ! — 
by  your  eternal  hope,  who  is  it  that  you  do  love  ?" 

"On  my  knees — Luke  Bryant,"  fervently  said  'Kath- 
leen." 

"  Then  wo  to  ye  both  !"  cried  Mark,  casting  her  rudely 
from  him,  and,  with  a  look  of  intense  hate,  i-ushing  from 
the  cottage. 

There  was  a  perfect  tempest  of  rage  in  Mark's  breast,  as 
he  quitted  Kathleen  ;  plans  of  revenge,  deadly  and  horri- 
ble, suggested  themselves  to  him,  and  he  nursed  the  devilish 
feeling  within  his  heart  until  every  humanizing  thought 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  anticipation  of  a  sweeping 
revenge.  On  reaching  the  village,  his  first  care  was  to  find 
Luke  ;  upon  seeing  him,  he  started  as  though  a  serpent 
stood  in  his  path. 

"Keep    away   from    me,   Mark    Dermot,"   he    sternly 


THE     TEST      OF     BLOOD.  '      123 

exclaimed.  "  If  you  are  come  to  triumph  in  your  success, 
be  careful,  for  there  may  be  danger  in  it." 

"  Luke,"  replied  the  other,  in  a  sad  tone,  "  we  are  rivals 
no  longer.  Nay,  listen,  I  bring  you  good  news,  there  are 
not  many  who  would  have  done  this;  but  what  care  I 
now — the  fact  is,  like  a  sensible  man,  I  am  come  to  pro 
claim  my  own  failure.     Kathleen  has  refused  me." 

"  She  has  ?" 

"  As  true  as  I'm  alive — rejected  me  for  you,  Luke. 
Nay,  as  good  as  told  me  that  she  merely  flirted  with  me 
to  fix  your  chains  the  tighter.  Cunning  little  devil — eh, 
Luke  ?  Come,  you'll  shake  hands  with  me  now,  I 
know." 

"If  I  could  believe  you,  Mark,"  said  Luke,  the  joy 
dancing  in  his  very  eyes. 

"I  tell  you  she  acknowdedged  to  me  that  she  never 
could  love  any  one  but  you.  Now  am  I  not  a  generous 
rival,  to  carry  his  mistress's  love  to  another  ?  She 
requested  me  to  ask  you  to  call  in  this  morning,  if  you 
would  have  conclusive  proof  of  her  sincerity,  and  you 
would  then  find  that  she  could  never  use  you  so  again. 
But  now  'tis  getting  late,  and  as  I  have  delivered  my  mes- 
sage, I  shall  leave  you  to  dream  of  Kathleen  and  happiness. 
Good  night — be  sure  and  see  her  in  the  morning ;"  and 
they  parted. 

Soon  afterwards,  Luke  missed  his  clasp-knife  with  which 
ha  had  been  eating  his  supper,  but,  after  a  slight  search, 
thought  no  more  of  the  matter,  his  verj^  soul  glowing  with 
renewed  delight  at  the  thought  of  seeing  his  loved  one  on 


124  THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD. 

the  morrow — that  their  differences  should  be  made  up, 
and  all  again  be  sunshine. 

About  an  hour  after,  as  he  was  preparing  'to  retire  for 
the  night,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  like 
to  take  a  walk  towards  Kathleen's  cottage — perchance  he 
should  see  her  shadow  on  the  curtain — he  might  hear  her 
sweet  voice — no  matter,  to  gaze  upon  the  home  that  con- 
tained her  would  at  least  be  something ;  so  off  he  started 
in  that  direction,  a  happy  feeling  pervading  his  every  sense. 
Arrived  within  sight  of  her  abode,  he  fancied  he  heard  a 
stifled  groan,  but  his  thoughts,  steeped  in  joy,  dvrelt  not  on 
it.  In  a  moment  after,  a  distinct  and  fearful  scream,  as  of 
one  in  agony,  bursL  on  the  stillness  of  the  night.  It  came 
from  the  direction  of  Kathleen's  cottage.  Inspired  with  a 
horrible  fear,  he  ran  wildly  forward — another,  and  another 
terrible  scream  followed  ;  there  was  no  longer  doubt — it 
was  the  voice  of  his  Kathleen.  With  mad  desperation,  he 
reached  the  place  just  in  time  to  see  the  figure  of  a  man, 
who,  in  the  doubtful  light,  he  could  not  recognize,  rush 
from  the  door  and  disappear  in  darkness.  In  breathless 
horror  Luke  entered.  Great  Heaven !  what  a  sight  met 
his  eyes.  His  beloved  Kathleen  lay  on  the  blood-dabbled 
floor,  in  the  last  agony  of  departing  nature,  her  beating 
heart  pierced  with  many  wounds ;  she  saw  and  evidently 
recognized  Luke,  for  'mid  the  desperate  throes  of  ebbing 
life,  she  clutched  his  hand  in  hers,  essaying,  but  in  vain,  to 
articulate — she  could  but  smile  ;  her  eye  glazed  over — 
her  hand  relaxed  its  grasp — and  with  her  gentle  head  rest- 
on  his  breast,  her  spirit  passed  away. 


THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD.  125 

All  this  was  so  sudden  and  fearfully  unexpected  to  Luke, 
that  he  scarcely  knew  'twas  reality,  until  several  of  the 
surrounding  neighbors,  who  had  been  alarmed  by  the  out- 
cry, came  hastily  in. 

"  See !"  cried  one,  "  'Tis  as  I  thought ;  murder  has  been 
done." 

"And  here  is  the  fatal  instrument  with  which  it  has 
been  eflected,"  said  another,  as  he  picked  up  a  gory  knife 
from  the  floor.  It  caught  the  eye  of  Luke.  "  That  knife 
is  mine,"  said  he,  in  the  measured  tone  of  one  stricken 
down  by  terrible  calamity. 

"  Yours  ?"  they  all  exclaimed  at  once.  "  Then  you  have 
murdered  her  ?" 

Luke  only  smiled — a  ghastly,  soul-crushed  smile,  most 
awful  to  look  upon  at  such  a  time  ;  his  heart  was  too  full 
for  words.  Reason,  which  had  been  dethroned  by  this 
unexpected  blow,  had  scarcely  yet  returned  to  its  seat,  for 
all  unconsciously  he  still  held  the  lifeless  form  tightly 
clasped  in  his  arms,  gazing,  with  a  sort  of  stony  expression, 
upon  the  face  of  her  who  had  been  to  him  the  world. 

It  was  not  until  they  approached  to  seize  him  for  killing 
her,  that  he  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  aware  of  his  position. 

"  What  would  you  do,  friends  ?"  said  he,  mournfully,  as 
they  endeavored  to  force  him  away.  "  Would  you  deny 
me  the  sad  comfort  of  dying  in  her  presence  V 

"  Have  you  not  murdered  her,  wretch  ?"  cried  one  of  the 
by-standers. 

"What! — ^murder  her — God  in  heaven  forbid,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 


126  THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD. 

"Is  not  this  your  knife  ?" 

"It  is!" 

"  And  how  came  it  here — if  not  used  by  you — in  this 
unknown  manner?" 

"  It  was  stolen  from  me  by  that  arch-demon,  Mark  Der- 
mot,"  said  Luke,  shuddering  to  the  very  heart,  as  he  men- 
tioned that  name. 

"  That  has  got  to  be  proved,"  cried  one  of  the  crowd, 
who  happened  to  be  a  friend  of  Mark's,  "  we  can't  take 
your  bare  word  for  it.     Let  him  be  secured." 

But  Luke  needed  no  securing.  Listlessly  he  suffered 
them  to  pinion  his  arms ;  and  in  the  same  room  with  the 
precious  casket  which  once  contained  his  heart's  treasure, 
he  abided  the  remainder  of  the  nio-ht,  in  a  state  of  mental 
torture  utterly  incapable  of  being  rendered  into  words. 

The  morning  after  this  awful  occurrence,  a  coroner's 
jury  was  summoned,  and  the  identity  of  the  knife  having 
been  proved,  added  to  his  own  admission,  and  the  fact  of 
his  having  had  a  quarrel  with  her  the  day  before  being 
testified  to,  every  circumstance  tended  to  fix  the  guilt  upon 
him ;  a  verdict  was  delivered  accordingly,  and  Luke  Bry- 
ant stood  charged  with  the  murder  of  one  for  whom  he 
would  willingly  have  shed  his  last  drop  of  blood. 

With  a  degree  of  effrontery  consonant  with  his  general 
character.  Black  Mark  made  his  appearance  amongst  the 
spectators  who  attended  the  inquiry,  and  was  loudest  in 
denunciation  against  the  supposed  criminal.  It  only  re- 
mained now  for  the  accused,  who  had  been  removed  during 
the  inquest,  to  be  brought  into  the  chamber  of  death,  pre- 


THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD.  127 

viously  to  the  warrant  being  drawn  out  for  his  final  com- 
mittal, to  be  tried  at  the  ensuing  quarter  sessions.  He  was 
conducted  into  the  room ;  with  a  listless,  apathetic  gaze  he 
looked  around  him  mechanically,  for  he  cared  not  now 
what  fate  might  do  to  him,  when  suddenly  his  eyes  rested 
on  Mark  Dermot.  The  consciousness  of  everything  that 
had  taken  place  seemed  all  to  flash  through  his  brain  at 
once. 

"  Murderer !"  he  cried.  "  Can  it  be  that  Heaven's  light- 
ning slumbers !  Friends ! — behold  that  fiend  ;  who,  not 
content  with  the  life's  blood  of  one  victim,  now  comes  to 
triumph  in  a  double  murder !" 

"  What  means  the  fool  ?"  contemptuously  exclaimed 
Mark.  "  Does  he  suppose  that  reasoning  men  will  credit 
his  ravings,  or  help  him  to  shift  his  load  of  crime  upon 
another's  shoulders  ?" 

"  As  I  am  a  living  man — as  there  is  a  just  God  who 
knows  the  secrets  of  all  hearts,  there  stands  the  murderer, 
Mark  Dermot  1"  solemnly  replied  Luke.  "  It  is  not  for 
myself  I  care,  for  Heaven  knows  that  I  would  rather  die 
than  bear  about  this  load  of  misery ;  but  that  he  should 
brave  the  angels  with  a  shameless  brow,  he  whose  hands 
are  crimsoned  with  her  precious  blood — it  is  too  much  ! — 
too  much  !" 

"  Then,  Luke  Bryant,"  said  the  coroner,  "  you  deny  hav- 
ing committed  this  crime  ?" 

"  On  my  knees — before  the  throne  of  mercy — I  do  !" 

"  I  trust,  then,  that  you  may  cause  a  jury  of  your  coun- 
trymen to  believe  so;  but  for  me,  I  have  only  one  duty  to 


128  THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD. 

perform,  and  circumstances  clearly  bear  me  out  in  my 
assumption.     I  must  send  you  to  trial !" 

"  At  this  juncture,  one  of  tlie  jurymen,  who  thought  he 
could  perceive  a  meaning  in  Mark's  peculiar,  ill-concealed 
glance  of  savage  delight,  begged  to  be  heard :  keeping  his 
eye  steadily  fixed  on  Mark's  face,  he  said,  with  solemnity  : 

"  When  the  judgment  of  man  is  in  perplexity  as  to  the 
author  of  crimes  like  these,  the  aid  of  Heaven  may  well  be 
solicited,  that  it  might  be  mercifully  pleased  to  give  some 
indication  by  which  the  innocent  might  be  prevented  from 
suflfering  for  the  guilty.  We  have  an  old  tradition  here, 
that  if  the  accused  lays  his  right  hand  upon  the  breast  of 
the  corpse,  swearing  upon  the  Holy  Gospel  that  he  had  no 
act  or  part  in  the  deed,  speaking  truly,  no  results  will  fol- 
low ;  but  if  he  swears  falsely,  the  dead  itself  will  testify 
against  him  ;  for  the  closed  wounds  will  re-open  their 
bloody  mouths,  and  to  the  confusion  of  the  guilty  one,  the 
stream  of  life  will  flow  once  more  for  a  short  space !  It 
seems  to  me  that  this  is  a  case  in  which  The  Test  of 
Blood  might  be  applied  not  vainly." 

"  Willingly  ! — most  willingly  will  I  abide  the  test,"  ex- 
claimed Luke. 

''  And  you  ?"  said  the  juror,  with  a  penetrating  glance 
at  Mark.  '  *" 

"I  I"  said  the  latter,  with  an  attempt  at  recklessness, 
"  What  is  it  to  me  ? — why  should  I  be  subject  to  such 
mummery — who  accuses  me  ?" 

"  I  do !"  thundered  Luke,  "  and  I  now  insist  upon  his 
going  through  the  trial — myself  will  point  out  the  way." 


THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD.  129 

So  saying,  he  approached  the  lifeless  body,  and  sinking  on 
his  knees,  laid  his  right  hand  reverently  on  the  heart,  say- 
ing— 

"  My  blessed  angel !  if  thy  spirit  lingers  near,  thou 
knowest  that  this  hand  would  rather  let  my  life-blood 
forth,  than  offer  thee  the  shadow  of  an  injury  !" 

They  waited  an  instant — all  was  quiet ;  meantime, 
Mark,  persuading  himself  that  it  was  but  a  form,  and  yet 
trembling  to  the  very  core,  advanced.  All  eyes  were  upon 
him ;  he  paused — cast  a  glance  around,  and  grinding  his 
teeth  savagely,  cried  out : 

"  Why  do  you  all  fix  your  gaze  on  me  ?  I'm  not  afraid 
to  do  this  piece  of  folly."  He  advanced  another  step — 
again  he  hesitated  ;  heartless-^brutal — though  he  was,  the 
spell  of  a  mighty  dread  was  on  his  soul.  His  face  grew 
livid ;  the  blood  started  from  his  lips ;  large  round  drops 
burst  from  his  forehead  and  rolled  down  his  ashy  cheeks. 
At  last,  with  a  tremendous  effort,  he  knelt,  and  attempted 
to*  stretch  forth  his  hand — it  seemed  glued  to  his  side. 
Starting  to  his  feet  again,  he  cried  fiercely  : 

"  I  will  not  do  it— why  should  I  ?" 

"  You  cannot ! — you  dare  not !"  solemnly  ejaculated 
Luke.     "  If  you  are  guiltless,  why  should  you  fear  ?" 

"  Fear !"  screamed  the  other,  "I  fear  neither  man  nor 
devil — dead  nor  living,"  suddenly  placing  his  hand  upon 
the  breast  of  the  dead  ! 

"  See — see !"  cried  Luke,  wildly,  "  the  blood  mounts  up 
— it  overflows !" 

"  It's  a  lie  !"  madly  exclaimed  Mark. 
6* 


130  THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD. 

But  it  was  no  lie ;  the  ruddy  stream  welled  upward 
through  those  gaping  wounds,  and  flowed  once  more  adown 
her  snowy  breast,  a  murmur  of  awe  and  surprise  breaking 
from  the  assembled  group ;  whilst  shivering  to  the  very 
heart,  the  terrors  of  discovered  guilt  and  despair  seized  upon 
Mark. 

"  Curse  ye  all !"  he  roared.  "  You  would  juggle  my 
life  away  :  but  you  shall  find  I  will  not  part  with  it  so 
readily."  Hastily  drawing  a  pistol,  it  was  instantly  wrest- 
ed from  him.  Several  of  the  bystanders  flung  themselves 
upon  him  ;  but  the  desperate  resistance  which  he  made, 
added  to  the  frightful  internal  agony  which  he  had  just 
endured,  caused  him  to  break  a  blood-vessel ;  and  in  raving 
delirium,  the  hardened  sinner's  soul  wended  to  its  last 
account  in  the  presence  of  those  whom,  in  his  reckless  vil- 
lainy, he  had  expected  to  destroy. 

Wonder  succeeded  wonder ;  and  the  mystery  was  soon 
discovered  to  be  no  mystery  at  all,  but  the  natural  instru- 
ment in  the  hands  of  Providence  to  confound  the  guilty. 
As  relapsing  into  his  former  listlessness,  Luke  was  intently 
gazing  on  the  body  of  his  beloved,  suddenly  his  heart  gave 
one  tremendous  throb. 

"  Hush  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  anxious,  trembling  voice ; 
"  For  Heaven's  love,  be  silent  for  an  instant !  I  thought  I 
heard  a  sound  like — Ha  !  there  it  is  again — a  gasp — a 
gentle  sob,  and  scarcely  audible,  but  distinct  as  thunder 
within  my  soul — there's  warmth  about  her  breast — her 
eyelids  tremble.  The  God  of  Mercy  be  thanked ! — she 
lives — she  lives  !"  and  Luke  sunk  upon  his  knees  ;  a  copi- 


THE     TEST     OF     BLOOD.  131 

ous  flood  of  tears,  the  first  lie  had  ever  shed,  relieved  his 
overcharged  feelings. 

It  was  true — she  did  live ;  from  loss  of  blood  only  had 
she  fainted,  and  the  excessive  weakness  had  thus  far  pro- 
longed the  insensibility ;  none  of  the  stabs  had  reached  a 
vital  part,  and  it  was  the  first  effort  of  nature  to  resume  its 
suspended  functions  which  had  caused  the  blood  once  more 
to  circulate,  just  at  the  instant  which  so  signally  estab- 
lished the  guilt  of  the  intended  murderer. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  say  that  Mark  Dermot's  pre- 
vious bad  character  prevented  much  sympathy  being  felt 
for  a  fate  so  well  deserved.  In  process  of  time  Luke's 
devoted  love  was  well  rewarded.  Kathleen  recovered  from 
the  effects  of  her  wounds — gave  him  her  hand,  and  profit- 
ing by  the  terrible  lesson  which  she  had  received,  made  an 
estimable,  virtuous,  and  affectionate  wife. 


132  THE     MORNING      DREAM. 


THE  moe:n"ing  dkeam. 

The  dream  of  the  night,  there's  no  reason  to  rue, 
But  the  dream  of  the  morning  is  sure  to  come  trrje. 

Old  Satiso. 

Pretty  Peggy  May;  a  bright-eyed,  merry-hearted,  IHtle 
darling  you  are,  Peggy  !  there's  no  gainsaying  that  fact ;  a 
cunning  little  gipsy,  and  most  destructive  too,  as  many  an 
achinor  heart  can  testify.  But  who  can  blame  'thee  for 
that  ?  as  well  might  the  summer's  sun  be  blamed  for  warm- 
ing the  sweet  flowers  into  life.  It  is  a  natural  ordination 
that  all  who  see  you  should  love  you. 

Pretty  Peg  has  just  completed  her  eighteenth  year;  in 
the  heedless  gaiety  of  youth,  she  has  hitherto  gambolled 
through  the  road  of  life,  without  a  grief,  almost  without  a 
thought.  Oh !  for  the  sunny  days  of  childhood,  ere,  wed- 
ded to  experience,  the  soul  brings  forth  its  progeny  of 
cares.  Why  can  we  not  add  the  knowledge  of  our  wiser 
years,  and  linger  over  that  most  blessed,  least  prized  period 
of  our  existence,  when  every  impulse  is  at  once  obeyed, 
and  the  ingenuous  soul  beams  forth  in  smiles,  its  every 
working  indexed  in  the  face — ere  Prudence  starts  up  like  a 
spectre,  and  cries  out :  "  Beware  !  there  is  a  prying  world 
that  watches  every  turn,  and  does  not  always  make  a  true 
report."     Prudence !    how  •  I  hate  the   cold,  calculating, 


THE     MORNING      DREAM.  133 

heartless  phrase.  Be  loyal  in  word,  be  just  in  act,  be  hon- 
est in  all;  but  Prudence  !  'tis  twin-brother  to  Selfishness, 
spouse  of  Mistrust,  and  parent  of  Hypocrisy  !  But,  me- 
thinks  I  hear  some  one  say,  "  This  is  a  most  cavalierly  way 
of  treating  one  of  the  cardinal  virtues  " — to  which  I  reply, 
"  It  certainly  has,  by  some  means  or  another,  sneaked  in 
amongst  the  virtues,  and  thereby  established  a  right  to  the 
position  ;  but  it  is  the  companionship  only  which  makes  it 
respectable,  and  it  must  be  accompanied  by  all  the  rest  to 
neutralize  its  mischievous  tendency." 

But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  Peggy  and  her  dreams  ? 
Pshaw  !  don't  be  impatient — we  are  coming  to  that  If 
you  have  taken  the  slightest  interest  in  little  Peg,  prepare 
to  sympathize  in  her  first  heart-deep  sorrow.  She  is  in 
love !  Now,  if  she  herself  were  questioned  about  the  mat- 
ter, I'm  pretty  sure  she  would  say  it's  no  such  thing ;  but 
I  take  upon  myself  to  declare  it  to  be  true,  and  for  fear 
you  should  think  that  I  make  an  assertion  which  I  cannot 
substantiate,  permit  me  to  relate  the  substance  of  a  con- 
versation which  took  place  between  Peg  and  her  scarcely 
less  pretty,  but  infinitely  more  mischievous  cousin,  Bridget 
O'Conner.  They  had  just  returned  from  one  of  those  gre- 
garious merry-meetings,  where  some  spacious  granary,  just 
emptied  of  its  contents,  gives  glorious  opportunity  for  the 
gladsome  hearts  of  the  village,  and  "  all  the  country  round  " 
to  meet  and  astonish  the  rats — sleek,  well-fed  rascals,  doz- 
ing in  their  holes — with  uproarious  fun  and  revelry. 

A  sudden,  and  indeed,  under  the  circumstances,  extremely 
significant  sigh  from  Peg,  startled  Bridget  from  the  little 


134  THE      MORNING      DREAM. 

glass  where  she  was  speculating  as  to  how  she  looked,  for 
the  last  hour  or  two.  I  may  as  well  say  the  scrutiny  was 
perfectly  satisfactory — she  had  not  danced  all  her  curls  out. 

"  Gracious  me !"  she  exclaimed,  "  Peg,  how  you  do 
sigh !" 

*'  And  no  wonder,"  rejoined  Peggy,  with  a  slight  squeeze 
of  acid,  "  after  having  danced  down  twenty  couple  twenty 
times,  I  should  like  to  know  who  wouldn't  ?" 

"  Ah  !  but  that  wasn't  a  tired  sigh.  Peg.  I  know  the 
difference ;  one  needn't  dive  as  low  as  the  heart  for  them  ; 
a  tired  sigh  comes  flying  out  upon  a  breath  of  joy,  and 
turns  into  a  laugh  before  it  leaves  the  lips  ;  you  are  sad, 
Peg !" 

"  How  you  talk ;  why,  what  on  earth  should  make  me 
sad  ?" 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  want  to  know  ;  now  there's  no 
use  in  your  trying  to  laugh,  for  you  can't  do  it.  Do  you 
think  I  don't  know  the  difference  between  a  laugh  and  that 
nasty  deceitful  croak  ?" . 

"  Bridget !"  exclaimed  Peg,  with  a  look  which  she 
intended  should  be  very  severe  and  very  reproachful,  "  I'm 
sleepy." 

"  Well,  then,  kiss  me,  and  go  to  bed,"  replied  Bridget. 
"  Ho  !  ho  !"  thought  she,  "  there's  something  curious  about 
V^g  to-night.  I  think  what  I  think,  and  if  I  think  right, 
Pm  no  woman  if  I  don't  find  out  before  I  sleep."  Craftily 
she  changed  the  conversation,  abused  the  women's  dresses, 
and  criticised  their  complexions,  especially  the  pretty  ones. 
At  last,  when  she  had  completely  lulled  the  commotion  of 


THE     MORNING     DREAM.  13^ 

Peg's  thoughts  into  a  calm,  she  suddenly  cried  out :  "  Oh ! 
Peg,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  that  one  of  the  boys  we  danced 
with  had  his  leg  broke  coining  home  to-night !" 

Peggy,  surprised  into  an  emotion  she  found  it  impossible 
to  conceal,  started  up,  pale  as  snow,  and  gasped  out : 

"  Who  was  it— who  ?" 

Ha !  ha  !  thought  the  other,  the  fox  is  somewhere  about 
— now  to  beat  the  cover. 

"  Did  you  hear  me  ask  you  who  ?"  said  Peg,  anxiously. 

"  I  did,  dear,"  replied  Bridget,  "  but  I'm  trying  to  recol- 
lect. I  think,"  and  she  looked  steadily  into  Peggy's  eyes, 
"  I  think  it  v>^as  Ned  Riley."     Peg  didn't  even  wink. 

She  doesn't  care  about  him,  and  I'm  not  sorry  for  that, 
thought  Bridget,  thereby  making  an  acknowledgment 
to  herself,  which  the  sagacious  reader  will  no  doubt  inter- 
pret truly. 

"  No,  it  wasn't  Ned,"  she  continued,  "  now  I  think  of  it, 
it  was — it  was — a  " — 

"  Who  ?  who  ?"  cried  Peg,  now  sensibly  agitated,  "  do 
tell  me,  there's  a  dear." 

Not  she,  not  a  bit  of  it,  but  lingered  with  feminine  inge- 
nuity, now  making  as  though  she  recollected  the  name,  and 
then  with  a  shake  of  her  head,  pretending  to  dive  back 
into  memory,  just  as  the  inquisitors  of  old  us-ed  to  slacken 
the  torture,  to  enable  the  recipient  to  enjoy  another  dose. 

"  Now  I  have  it,"  said  she,  "  no,  I  haven't ;  I  do  believe 
I've  forgotten  who  it  was,  but  this  I  know,  it  was  the  pleas- 
antest-mannered  and  nicest  young  fellow  in  the  whole 
heap." 


136  THE     MORNING     DREAM. 

"  Then  it  must  have  been  Mark  !"  exclaimed  Peg,  throw- 
ing prudence  overboard,  and  fixing  her  large,  eloquent 
eyes  full  on  Bridget's  mouth,  as  if  her  everlasting  fate  de- 
pended upon  the  little  monosyllable  about  to  issue  from  it. 

"  It  was  Mark !  that  was  the  name  !" 

Peggy  gave  a  gasp,  while  Bridget  went  on,  with  a  tri- 
umphant twinkle  in  her  wicked  little  eye  which  did  not 
show  over-favorably  for  her  humanity. 

"  Mark  Brady  /"  dwelling  on  the  name  with  slow,  dis- 
tinct emphasis,  which  made  Peggy's  heart  jump  at  each 
word  as  though  she  had  received  an  electric  shock. 

She  knew  the  tenderest  part  of  the  sentient  anatomy, 
Bridget  did,  and  took  intense  delight  in  stabbing  exactly 
there ;  not  mortal  stabs,  that  would  be  mercy,  but  just  a 
little  too  far  for  tickling.  That  sort  of  a  woman  was  Brid- 
get, who,  if  possessed  of  an  incumbrance  in  husband  shape, 
would  take  infinite  pains  to  discover  the  weakest  points  in 
his  temper,  and  industriously  attack  those  quarters,  piling 
up  petty  provocations,  one  upon  another ;  none  in  them- 
selves of  sufficient  importance  to  induce  a  sally,  but  mak- 
ing altogether  a  breastwork  of  aggravation,  that  must  at 
last  o'ertop  the  wall  of  temper.  And  if  the  unfortunate 
besieged  don't  take  his  hat,  and  make  a  not  very  honorable 
retreat,  philosophy  will  be  obliged  to  strike  its  flag,  the 
signal  for  a  civil  war,  which,  like  all  such  unnatural  con- 
fficts,  strikes  at  the  root  of  all  domestic  comfort,  and 
whichever  side  may  remain  the  victors,  the  trophy  is  a 
home  destroyed. 

But  to  return  to  Peg,  for  whose  benefit  I  have  indulged 


THE     MOENINa     DREAM.  137 

in  the  foregoing  rather  spiteful  digression,  in  order  that  she 
might  have  time  to  recover  herself;  or  rather,  I  should 
say,  to  be  thoroughly  c-onscious  of  the  extent  of  her  un- 
happiness.  Remember,  'tis  her  first  grief,  so  pardon  its 
intensity.  Phantoms  of  crutches  and  of  wooden  legs  came 
crowding  on  her  imagination,  contrasting  themselves  with 
the  curious  agility  with  which  poor  Mark  had  "  beat  the 
Jloor  "  in  the  merry  jig,  until  he  made  it  echo  to  every 
note  of  the  pipes.  Then  rose  up  vague  spectres  of  san- 
guinary-minded surgeons,  with  strange  butcherly  instru- 
ments ;  then  she  saw  nothing  but  fragmentary  Marks, 
unattached  legs,  a  whole  room-full  dancing  by  themselves  ; 
there  they  were,  twisting  and  twirling  about,  in  the  various 
difficult  complications  of  the  "toe  and  heel,"  "double 
shuffle,"  "  ladies'  delight,"  and  "  cover  the  buckle ;"  she 
shut  her  eyes  in  horror,  and  was  sensible  of  nothing  but  a 
gloomy  blood-red.  There's  no  knowing  to  what  lengths 
her  terrible  fancies  might  have  gone,  had  they  not  been 
dispersed  like  wreaths  of  vapor  by  a  hearty  laugh  from  the 
mischievous  Bridget.  Peggy  opened  her  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment. Was  she  awake  ?  Yes,  there  was  her  cousin  en- 
joying one  of  the  broadest,  merriest,  wickedest  laughs  that 
ever  mantled  over  the  face  of  an  arch  little  female. 

"Poor  Maik!"  she  cried,  and  then  burst  forth  again 
into  ringing  laughter,  which  dimpled  her  crimson  cheeks 
like — what  shall  I  say? — like  a  fine  healthy-looking  cork- 
red  potatoe,  an  Irish  simile,  I  must  say  ;  but  had  we  seen 
Bridget,  and  were  acquainted  with  the  features  of  the 
aforesaid  esculent,  Pm  pretty  certain  you  would  acknow- 
ledge its  aptness. 


138  THE     MOKNING     DREAM. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  gracious  are  you  laughing  at  ?'* 
exclaimed  Peggy,  a  gleam  of  hope  breaking  on  the  dark- 
ness of  her  thought. 

"  Why,  that  you  should  take  on  so,  when  I  told  you 
Mark  had  broken  his  leg,"  gaily  replied  Bridget. 

"Hasn't  he?" 

"  Not  half  as  much  as  your  poor  little  heart  would  have 
been  broken  if  he  had,"  said  the  tormentor. 

"  Bridget !  Cousin  !"  said  poor  Peg,  now  enduring  much 
more  pain  from  the  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  "you 
should  not  have  done  this ;  you  have  crowded  a  whole 
life-time  of  agony  in  those  few  moments  past." 

"Well,  forgive  me,  dear  Peggy.  I  declare  I  didn't 
know  that  you  had  the  affection  so  strong  on  you,  or  I 
wouldn't  have  joked  for  the  world.  But  now,  confess, 
doesn't  it  serve  you  right,  for  not  confiding  in  me,  your 
natural  born  cousin  ?  Did  I  ever  keep  a  secret  from  you  ? 
Didn't  I  tell  you  all  about  Pat  Finch,  and  Johnny  Magee, 
and  Jack,  the  hurler,  eh  ?" 

"But  not  one  word  about  Edward  Riley,  with  whom 
you  danced  so  often  to-night,"  observed  Peg,  with  a  very 
pardonable  dash  of  malice. 

It  was  now  Bridget's  turn  to  change  color,  as  she  stam- 
mered out,  "  I — I  was  going  to,  not  that  I  care  much  about 
him ;  no,  no,  Mark  is  the  flower  of  the  flock,  and  I've  a 
mighty  great  mind  to  set  my  cap  at  him  myself." 

Peggy  smiled,  a  very  small,  but  a  peculiar,  and  it  might 
have  been,  perfectly  self-satisfied  smile,  as  she  replied: 
*'  Try,  Miss  Bridget,  and  I  wish  you  success." 

'Truth   is   scarce   when  liars  are  near,"  said  Bridget. 


THE     MORNINa     DREAM.  139 

"  But  I  say,  Peg,  does  Mark  know  you  love  him  so  hard  ?" 

"  Don't  be  foolish  ;  how  should  he  ?" 

"  Did  you  never  tell  him  ?" 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?" 

"  Did  he  never  tell  you  V 

"  What  do  you  take  him  for  V 

"  For  a  man,  and  moreover  a  conceited  one  ;  don't  you 
mean  to  let  him  know  his  good  fortune  ?" 

"  It  isn't  leap  year,  and  if  it  was,  I'd  rather  die  than  do 
such  a  thing,"  said  Peggy  ! 

"  Come,  I'll  bet  you  a  new  cap,  that  I  mean  to  wear  at 
your  wedding,  you  will  let  him  know  the  state  of  your 
feelings,  and  that,  before  a  week  is  over  your  head,"  pro- 
vokingly  replied  Bridget. 

Peggy,  said  nothing.     Prudent  Peg. 

"Is  it  a  bet?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  anything,  but  go  to  sleep,  or  we  shan't  get  a 
wink  to-night." 

"  True  for  you,  cousin,  for  it's  to-morrow  already  !  Look 
at  the  daybreak,  how  it  has  frightened  our  candle,  until  its 
almost  as  pale  as  your  cheek." 

"  Good  night,  Bridget." 

"  Good  night,  dear  Peg,  don't  forget  to  remember  your 
dreams.  Recollect  it's  morning,  now,  and  whatever  we 
dream,  is  sure  to  come  true^ 

Before  she  slept,  Bridget  formed  a  project  in  her  mind 
to  ensure  the  winning  of  her  bet.  What  it  was,  it  will  be 
time  enough  to  find  out  by-and-by. 


140  THE     MORNING     DREAM. 

Very  early  in  the  day,  Mark  Brady  and  l^ed  called  to 
inquire  after  the  health  of  their  respective  partner.  It  so 
happened  that  Bridget  received  them ;  and  very  quickly, 
for  she  was  one  of  those  tyrants  in  love  who  make  their 
captives  feel  their  chains,  on  some  frivolous  pretence  or 
another,  dismissed  her  swain  and  began  to  develop  her 
plot  with  Mark. 

Now,  Mark,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  as  at  any  other 
time,  was  a  very  favorable  specimen  of  a  class  I  regret  to 
say,  not  over  numerous  in  Ireland ;  a  well  to-do  farmer, 
his  rent  always  ready,  his  crops  carefully  gathered,,  and  a 
trifle  put  by  yearly,  so  that  he  enjoyed  that  most  enviable 
condition  in  life,  "  a  modest  competence."  As  to  his  per- 
sonal appearance,  there's  scarcely  any  occasion  to  describe 
that,  for,  with  the  exception  of  one  individual,  I  don't  sup 
pose  he  has  a  feature  or  characteristic  which  would  be 
considered  by  any  one  at  all  uncommon  or  interesting. 
SuflSce  it  to  say,  Mark  was  a  77ian  !  A  volume  of  eulogy 
could  not  say  more. 

And,  moreover,  Mark  did  love  pretty  Peggy  May ;  with 
a  whole-hearted,  manly,  and  unselfish  love,  he  loved  her. 
I  tell  you  this,  dear  reader,  in  order  that  you  may  not 
waste  time  in  speculating  on  the  subject  of  Mark's  thoughts, 
as  he  sat  silent  and  fidgety,  a  passive  victim  to  the  mis- 
chievous Bridget,  who,  shrewd  little  puss,  knew  eveiy  turn 
of  his  mind  as  though  imprinted  on  his  face ;  and  for  the 
matter  of  that,  so  they  were,  in  nature's  own  chaiacters, 
tyi^e  most  readable. 

Mark  was  apparently  very  busy,  sketching  imaginary 


THE     MORNINQ     DEEAM.  141 

somethings  on  the  floor  with  his  blackthorn  stick,  and 
seemingly  unconscious  of  Bridget's  presence,  when  she 
suddenly  interrupted  his  revery  by  saying : 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Mr.  Brady  !" 

"Eh!  what!"  he  replied,  blushing  'till  it  fairly  stung 
his  cheek  like  a  million  of  needles.  "  A  penny,  is  it,  Miss  I 
faith,  an'  it's  dear  they'd  be  at  that  same." 

"And  what  might  you  be  thinking  of,  may  I  ask,  Mr. 
Mark  ?"  said  Bridget,  accompanying  the  question  with  one 
of  her  very  sweetest  smiles. 

"  Just  nothing  at  all,  Miss,"  replied  Mark. 

"'Nothing!'  then  they  would  be  'c/mr,'  and  that's  true 
Mark ;  but  supposing,  now,"  she  continued,  archly ;  "  I 
only  say,  supposing  it  happened  to  be  your  sweetheart  you 
were  thinking  of,  you  might  find  another  meaning  for  that 
same  little  word  !'' 

Mark  felt  as  though  he  had  been  detected  in  some  fault, 
as  he  replied,  sketching  away  on  the  floor  faster  than  ever, 
"But  what  if  I  hadn't  a  sweetheart  to  think  of.  Miss 
O'Conner."  It  was  a  miserable  attempt  at  prevarication, 
and  he  felt  that  it  was. 

"Why,  then,  I  should  say,  as  you're  not  blind,  it's 
mighty  lucky  that  you  don't  carry  such  a  thing  as  a  heart 
about  you.  I'd  be  ashamed  if  I  were  you,  rising  twenty 
years  old,  and  neither  crooked  nor  ugly;  it's  disgraceful 
to  hear  you  say  so — a  pretty  example  to  set  to  the  boys !" 

"  True  for  you,  and  so  it  is,"  said  Mark,  "  and  more 
betoken,  it's  a  much  greater  shame  for  me  to  tell  any  lies 
about  the  matter    I  have  a  sweetheart,  thousfh  she  doesn't 


142  THE      MORNING      DREAM. 

know  it ;  ay,  and  have  had  one  for  this  nigh  hand  a  twelve- 
month." 

"  Only  to  think,"  replied  Bridget,  casting  down  her  eyes, 
and  affecting  to  conceal  some  sudden  emotion,  "  and  for  a 
twelve-month  nigh  hand  !     Oh,  dear  !  I  don't  feel  well !" 

Mark  was  puzzled,  in  point  of  fact,  embarrassed.  There 
was  something  in  Bridget's  manner  which  he  couldn't 
understand  ;  he  had  a  vague  presentiment  that  there  was  a 
mistake  somewhere,  but  when  she,  pretending  to  be  over- 
come, flung  herself  into  his  arms,  the  truth  burst  upon  him 
at  once.  He  was  in  a  precious  dilemma ;  Bridget  was  in 
love  with  him",  and  he  felt  downright  ashamed  of  himself 
for  being  so  fascinating.  What  he  was  to  do,  or  how  to 
extricate  himself,  he  couldn't  tell,  as  she,  casting  a  fasci- 
nating glance  right  at  him,  said,  softly  : 

"  Dear  Mark,  those  good-looking  eyes  of  yours  told  me 
of  your  love,  long,  long  before  your  lazy  tongue." 

"Love,"  interrupted  Mark,  endeavoring  to  put  in  a 
demurrer. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  she,  "  I  saw  it,  I  knew  it  and  well ;" 
she  continued,  seeing  he  was  about  to  speak.  "  When  do 
you  mean  to  talk  to  Aunty  ?  You  know  my  fifty  pounds 
are  in  her  hands."     She  was  an  heiress,  was  Bridget. 

"  Pounds !  Aunty !  yes,  to  be  sure,"  replied  Mark,  per- 
fectly bewildered,  "  but  I  thought  Ned  Riley  was  " — 

"Peggy's  sweetheart — well,  we  all  know  that,"  inter- 
rupted Bridget,  inly  enjoying  the  consternation  that  painted 
Mark's  cheek  a  livid  white.  "And  you  to  be  so  jealous  of 
Riley,"  she  went  on,  "  not  to  dance  with  me  last  night ;  I 


THE     MORNING     DREAM.  143 

kne-w  the  reason,  but  the  jealousy  that  springs  from  love  is 
soon  forgot,  so  I  forgot  yours." 

"  Peggy  !  his  sweetheart  ?  Eiley's  ?" 

"To  be  sure,  don't  you  know  they  are  going  to  be 
married  ?" 

"  No !"  vacantly  replied  the  sorely  bewildered  Mark. 

"  Oh,  yes !  and  now  I  want  to  tell  you  a  pet  plan  of 
mine,  if  you  don't  think  me  too  bold,  Mark,  and  that  is, 
how  nice  and  cozy  it  would  be,  if  we  could  only  all  be 
married  on  the  same  day." 

This  was  too  much  for  Mark ;  he  couldn't  endure  it  any 
longer;  he  started  up,  pushed  his  hat  very  far  on  his 
head,  saying,  in  what  he  intended  to  be  a  most  severe  tone  ; 

"Miss  O'Conner,  I  don't  know  what  could  have  put  such 
an  idea  into  your  head.  Marry,  indeed !  I've  enough  to 
do  to  take  care  of  myself.  No,  I'm  sorry  to  wound  your 
feelings,  but  I  shall  never  marry  1" 

"  Oh !  yes,  you  will,"  said  Bridget,  placing  her  arm  in 
his,  which  he  disengaged,  saying  bitterly : 

"Never!  never!" 

"Nonsense,  I'll  bet  you  will,  and,  if  it  was  only  to 
humor  me,  Mark,  on  the  very  same  day  that  Peggy  is !" 

"  Bridget,  I  didn't  think  I  could  hate  a  woman  as  I'm 
beginning  to  hate  you." 

"  Better  before  marriage  than  after,  Mr.  Mark.  Come, 
I'll  bet  you  a  new  Sunday  coat,  against  a  calico  gown,  and 
that's  long  odds  in  your  favor,  that  what  I've  said  will 
come  true." 

"  Nonsense  !" 


144  THE     MOKNING     DJBEAM. 

"Is  it  a  bet?" 

"  Pooh  !  I'll  bet  my  life,  against " — 

"What  it's  worth,  Mr.  Mark — -just  nothing  at  all.'* 

"  True  for  you,  now,  Bridget ;  true  for  you,"  and  Mark 
suddenly  quitted  the  house  in  such  real  sorrow  that  it 
touched  for  a  moment  even  Bridget's  heart ;  but  only  for  a 
moment.  Pshaw  !  thought  she,  let  him  fret ;  it  will  do  him 
good,  and  make  the  joy  greater  when  he  comes  to  know 
the  truth.  A  hunt  would  be  nothing  without  hedges 
and  ditches.  Proceeding  to  the  window,  she  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  surprise. 

"Ha!  as  I  live,  here  comes  Peg  herself.  She  must 
meet  Mark ;  what  fun !  He  sees  her  and  stops  short ; 
what  a  quandary  he's  in.  She  sees  him  !  How  the  little 
fool  blushes;  now  they  meet.  Mark  doesn't  take  her 
hand.  I  wonder  what  he's  saying.  'It's  a  fine  day,'  I 
•suppose,  or  something  equally  interesting;  he  passes  on, 
and  Peg  looks  as  scared  as  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost." 

A  sudden  thought  at  this  moment  seemed  to  strike 
Bridget ;  she  clapped  her  hands  together  and  laughed  a 
little,  sharp  laugh,  saying,  "  I'll  do  it,  I  will ;  I'll  iiave  a 
bit  of  fun  with  Peg,  too,"  so  she  pretended  to  be  very  busy 
at  her  spinning-wheel  as  Peggy  entered,  and  hanging 
up  her,  cloak  and  bonnet,  sat  down  without  saying  a 
word. 

"  Ah  !  Peg,"  Bridget  began,  "  is  that  you  ?  Mark  has 
just  been  here." 

"  Indeed  ?"  replied  Peggy,  twisting  up  one  pretty  curl 
so  tightly  as  to  hurt  her  head. 


THE      MORNING      DREAM.  145 

"The  blessed  truth,"  continued  the  wicked  little  tor- 
mentor.    "  Did  you  meet  him  ?" 

A  very  despondmg  "  yes,"  was  the  response 

"  Well,"  demanded  Bridget,  anxiously,  "  did  he  say  any- 
thing— I  mean,  anything  particular  P 

"  He  only  said  the  weather  was  pleasant,  and  then 
passed  on,  without  ever  even  shaking  hands  with  me," 
sadly  replied  Peggy. 

"  Mark  needn't  have  done  that ;  whatever  happens,  he 
ought  to  be  civil  to  yow,"  said  Bridget,  with  a  peculiar 
expression  that  made  Peggy's  heart  flutter  within  her  like 
a  pigeon. 

"  Civil  to  me !  what  do  you  mean,  Bridget  V 

Bridget  hummed  an  air,  and,  as  if  suddenly  wishing  to 
change  the  conversation,  said,  gaily : 

"  Oh !  I  forgot,  we  were  to  tell  each  other's  dreams  this 
morning.     Peg,  you  begin,  what  did  you  dream  about  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Bridget,  I  didn't  sleep." 

"  Then  you  couldn't  have  dreamed,"  sagely  responded 
the  other,  "  but  I  did." 

"What?" 

"  I  dreamed  that  I  had  a  beautiful  new  gown  given  to 
me,  and  by  whom  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  ;  Ned  Riley,  may-be." 

"  Ned  Riley,  indeed,"  replied  Bridget  with  a  sneer ;  "  not 
a  bit  of  it.  By  a  finer  man  than  ever  stood  in  his  Bboes. 
Who  but  Mark  Brady?" 

Peg's  heart  sank  within  her. 

"  That  wasn't  all  I  dreamed,"  and  she  fixed  her  wild 
7 


146  THE      MORNING      DREAM. 

eyes  full  on  Peg,  in  a  way  that  made  hers  fall  instantly 
"  1  dreamed  that  I  was  married  to  him." 

"  To  Mark  ?"  whispered  Peggy. 

''To  Mark  r 

Peggy  diln't  utter  another  syllable;  didn't  even  look 
up,  hut  pat  motionless  and  pale,  very  pale.  Bridget  couldn't 
understand  her  seeming  apathy ;  a  more  acute  observer 
would  have  but  contrasted  it  with  the  intense  emotion 
which  she  felt  within — an  emotion  not  a  whit  lessened  as 
Bridget  continued,  with  marked  expression  : 

"  I  dreamed  all  that  this  blessed  morning,  and  morning 
dreams,  you  know,  always  come  trueV 

"  Peggy,  still  silent,  seemed  to  be  wholly  occupied  in 
demolishing,  piece  by  piece,  the  remnant  of  a  faded  flower 
which  she  had  taken  from  her  bosom,  lingering  over  its 
destruction  as  though  a  portion  of  her  heart  went  with 
each  fragment — when  Bridget  suddenly  started  up,  ex- 
claiming, "  Here  comes  Mark,  I  declare." 

A  painful  spasm  shot  through  Peggy's  frame,  yet  she  did 
not  stir  from  her  seat ;  the  only  evidence  that  she  heard 
Bridget's  exclamation  was  that  her  lips  grew  as  pallid  as 
her  cheek. 

"  But,  law,  what  am  I  thinking  about  ?  I  must  go  and 
tidy  my  hair.** 

And  away  flew  Bridget  up  to  her.  room,  from  whence 
she  crept  stealthily  down,  and  snugly  ensconced  herself 
behind  the  door.  Naughty  girl !  to  listen  to  what  trans- 
pired. 

Mark,  who,  since  his  conversation  wdth  Bridget,  had  seri- 


THE     MORNING     DREAM.  147 

ously  contemplated  suicide,  but  was  puzzled  about  the  best 
mode  of  making  away  with  himself,  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  to  enter  the  army  as  a  common  soldier  would 
be  the  least  criminal,  although  certainly  the  most  lingering 
process,  and  it  was  to  lacerate  his  feelings  by  a  parting  in- 
terview with  his  dearly-loved  Peg,  before  he  consummated 
the  act  of  enlistment,  that  he  now  came. 

Arrived  at  the  door,  he  hesitated  a  moment,  then  giving 
one  big  gulp,  he  lifted  the  latch  and  entered.  There  he 
saw  Peggy  herself,  looking  straight  into  the  fire,  never  once 
turning  aside  or  raising  her  eyes,  proof  positive  to  Mark,  if 
he  wanted  it,  that  she  cared  nothing  for  him.  He  sat  down, 
and  for  several  minutes  there  was  a  dead  silence.  Mark 
had  fully  intended  to  say  something  frightfully  cutting  to 
his  sweetheart,  but  as  he  gazed  upon  her  white,  sad  face, 
his  resentment  vanished,  and  he  felt  more  inclined  to  im- 
plore than  to  condemn.  He  wanted  to  speak,  but  what  to 
sav  he  had  not  the  remotest  idea.  At  last  Peg  broke  the 
silence,  by  murmuring  softly,  as  though  it  were  but  a 
thought,  to  which  she  had  given  involuntary  expression — 

"•May  you  be  happy,  Mark !     May  you  be  happy  1" 

"  Happy !"  echoed  Mark,  with  a  sharp  emphasis,  that 
thrilled  painfully  through  Peggy,  "  Faith,  it's  well  for  yovb 
to  be  wishing  me  happiness." 

"  Indeed,  indeed  I  do,  Mark — I  mean  Mr.  Brady,"  meekly 
replied  the  poor  girl. 

"  Oh,  that's  right !"  said  Mark,  bitteriy.  "  Mr.  Brady  ! 
It  used  to  be  Mark." 

"  But  never  can  again." 


148  THE     MORNING     DEEAM. 

"  YouVe  right !  never !" 

"  ]N  ever  !"  and  poor  Peggy  sighed  deeply. 

After  another  embarrassing  pause,  broken  only  by  a  sort 
of  smothered  sound,  which  might  have  been  the  wind,  but 
wasn't,  Mark  started  up,  exclaiming : 

"  I  see  my  company  is  displeasing  to  you,  but  I  shan't 
trouble  you  long.  That  will  be  done  to-morrow  which  will 
separate  us  for  ever." 

"  To-morrow  !  so  soon  ?"  replied  Peggy,  with  a  stifled  sob. 

"  Yes  !  the  sooner  the  better.     What  is  it  noio  to  you  V 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing  !  But  I  thought — that  is — I'm 
very,  very  foolish." 

Poor  Pegg}^'s  heart  overflowed  its  bounds  ;  burying  her 
face  in  her  hands,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Mark  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  She  must  have 
liked  me  a  little,  thought  he,  or  why  this  grief  ?  Well,  it's 
all  my  own  fault.  Why  didn'i  I  tell  her  of  my  love,  like 
a  man  ?  and  not  sneak  about,  afraid  of  the  sound  of  my 
own  voice.  I've  lost  her,  lost  the  only  thing  that  made 
life  to  me  worth  enduring,  and  the  sooner  I  relieve  her  of 
my  presence  the  better." 

"  Miss  May  !  Peggy !"  he  said,  with  an  eflbrt  at  calmness, 
"  this  is  the  last  time  we  may  meet  on  earth  ;  won't  you 
give  me  your  hand  at  parting  ?" 

Peggy  stretched  out  both  hands,  exclaiming  through  her 
tears — "  Mark  !  Mark  !  this  is,  indeed,  cruel !" 

"  It  is,  I  know  it  is  !"  said  Mark,  brushing  away  an  ob- 
trusive tear.  "  So,  God  bless  you,  and  good  angels  watch 
over  you  *  and  if  you  ever  cared  for  me  " — 


THE     MOilNING     DREAM.  149 

"  K  I  ever  cared  for  you  !  oh,  Mark  !" 

"  Why  !  did  you  ?"  inquired  Mark. 

"  You  were  my  only  thought,  my  life,  my  happiness  I" 
There  was  the  same  cuwous  sound  from  the  chamber  door, 
but  the  innocent  wind  had  again  to  bear  the  blame.  Peg- 
gy continued — "  Mark,  would  that  you  had  the  same  feel- 
ing for  me  1" 

"  I  had !  I  had  P  frantically  he  replied.  "  And  more, 
oh  !  much  more  than  I  have  words  to  speak.  Why  didn't 
we  know  this  sooner  ?" 

"  Ah  !  why,  indeed  ?"  sadly  replied  Peggy,  "  but  it  is  too 
late." 

"  Too  later  replied  Mark,  "  too  late r 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !"  exclaimed  Bridget,  bursting  into  the 
room,  streaming  with  tears  of  suppressed  laughter,  "  Don't 
look  so  frightened,  good  people  ;  I'm  not  a  ghost.  Who 
lost  a  new  cap  ?  eh.  Peg.  And  more,  betoken,  who  is 
likely  to  lose  a  new  gown  ?  I'll  have  my  bets,  if  I  die  for 
it.  So,  you've  spoke  out  at  last,  have  you?  You're  a 
pretty  pair  of  lovers.  You'd  have  gone  on  everlastingly, 
sighing  and  fretting  yourselves,  until  there  wouldn't  have 
been  enough  between  you  to  make  a  decent  Hddlestring, 
if  I  hadn't  interfered." 

"  You  ?"  cried  Peggy  and  Mark,  simultaneously. 

"  Y  es,  indeed,  it  made  me  perfectly  crazy  to  see  the  two 
of  you  groaning  and  fussing,  without  the  courage  to  say 
what  your  hearts  dictated.  There,  go  and  kiss  each  other, 
you  pair  of  noodles." 

It  is  hardlv  necessary  to  say  that  Bridget's  explanation 


150  THE     MORNING     DREAM. 

brouglit  about  a  pleasant  understandiug  between  all  parties, 
and  it  will  be  only  needful  to  add  that  a  few  weeks  after- 
wards there  was  a  double  wedding  at  the  little  parish  chapel. 
One  of  the  brides  wore  a  bran  new  calico  gown  of  such 
wonderful  variety  of  color,  and  moreover  a  new  cap  of  so 
elaborate  a  style  of  decoration,  that  she  was  the  admiration 
and,  of  necessity,  the  envy  of  the  entire  female  population. 
Bridget  had  won  both  her  wagers,  thereby  establishing, 
just  as  infallibly  as  all  such  matters  can  be  established,  the 
truth  of  the  old  saying  : 

The  dream  of  the  morning  is  sure  to  come  true. 


THE     FOBTUNE-TEXLER.  151 


THE   FOKTUNE-TELLER. 

"  Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  his  heart, 
Come  like  shadows  so  depart."  Shaespbaas, 

The  insatiable  desire  to  penetrate  the  dark  veil  of 
futurity,  which  pervades  all  classes,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest,  renders  the  occupation  of  the  Fortune-Teller  one 
of  considerable  profit.  In  no  part  of  the  world  are  there 
so  many  professors  of  the  art^  as  in  Ireland.  The  most 
insignificant  village  has  its  cunning  person,  of  one  sex  or 
the  other,  whose  province  generally  is  to  cure  bewitched 
cattle,  be  well  acquainted  with  all  the  scandalous  gossip  of 
the  vicinity,  and  give  advice  and  assistance  in  all  delicate 
and  diflScult  affairs  of  the  heart ;  added  to  which,  in  some 
instances,  a  "  triflle  of  smugglin\^^  and  in  all,  the  vending 
of  interdicted  drink  :  Potieen^  that  had  never  seen  the  ill- 
looking  face  of  a  ganger ;  a  kind  of  liquid  fire  you  might 
weaken  with  aquafortis,  that  would  scrape  the  throat  of  an 
unaccustomed  drinker  as  if  he  had  swallowed  a  coarse  file, 
but  which  our  seasoned  tipplers  '•'■toss  q/f,"  glass  after  glass, 
without  a  grin,  their  indurated  palates  receiving  it  like  so 
much  water. 
•     The  class  of  individuals  who  take  up,  or  are  instructed 


152  THE      FORTUNE-TELLER. 

in  the  mysteries  of  Fortune-telling,  combine  rather  antago- 
nistic elements.  They  are  generally  the  shrewdest,  cun- 
ningest,  cleverest,  laziest  people  you  can  find.  Studying, 
and  understanding  to  a  charm,  the  most  assailable  points 
of  human  nature,  they  obtain  from  their  applicants,  by 
circuitous  questioning,  the  precise  nature  of  their  expecta- 
tions-; then  dexterously  ^'■crossing  the  scent^''  with  an 
entirely  difierent  subject,  astonish  them  at  last  by  expound- 
ing their  very  thoughts.  Nor  are  the  old-established 
mysteries,  the  appliances  and  incantations  omitted,  although 
they  necessarily  must  be  of  a  simple  and  curious  nature ; 
the  great  oracle,  the  cards,  is  brought  into  requisition  on 
all  occasions,  varied  by  a  mystic  examination  of  tea- 
grounds,  melted  lead,  and  indeed,  sometimes  in  imitation 
of  the  ancient  soothsayer,  facilis  descensus,  by  the  sacrifice 
of  some  poor  old  cat. 

Bridget  Fallow,  or  Biddy  na  Dhioul,  as  she  was  most 
commonly  designated,  was  an  extraordinary  specimen  of 
the  genus.  Many  a  heartr-breaking  was  averted  through 
her  agency,  and  numberless  the  strange  doings  ascribed  to 
her  powers  of  witchcraft.  The  love-stricken  '■'■  from  all 
parts  of  the  country  round^''  a  comprehensive  Irish  phrase, 
signifying  a  circuit  of  some  twelve  or  fourteen  miles,  con- 
sulted ould  Biddy,  daily.  Immense  was  her  mystic  repu- 
tation, and  very  many  the  '■''fjypenny  bits"  the  smallest 
piece  of  com  that  could  be  obtained  to  "  cross  her  hajid,^^ 
did  she  sweep  into  her  greasy  pocket,  from  the  credulous 
of  either  sex. 

It  would  be  difificult  to  describe  accurately  the  temple 


THE     FORTUNE-TELLER.  153 

of  this  particular  dispenser  of  fortune.     Bent  nearly  double, 
partly  fDom  age,  and  partly  to  give  greater  effect  to  her 
divinations  (for  the  older  a  witch  appears,  the  more  credit 
is  given  to  her  skill),  she  sat,  or  rather  crouched  in  a  small, 
dimly-lighted   room,  surrounded  by  some  dozen   cats,  of 
all  ages  and  complexions,  from  playful  kittendom  to  grave 
and   reverend   cat-hood;    black,   white,   pie-ball'd,   skew- 
ball'd,  foxy,  tortoise-shell,  and  tab.     Now,  those  companions 
of  Biddy's  were  held  in  especial  horror  by  her  visitors,  who 
firmly  believed  them  to  be  familiar  demons,  attendant  on 
her  will.     But  never  were   animals  so  libelled,  for  they 
were  in  truth,  as  frolicsome  and  mundane  specimens  of  the 
feline,  as  ever  ran  after  a  ball  of  worsted.     Biddy  was  fond 
of  her  cats,  and  though  naturalists  doubt  the  sincerity  of 
cat-love,  they  certainly  appeared  to  be  greatly  attached  to 
her;  night  and  day  did  those  three  generations  of  puss 
gambol  about  her ;  perhaps,  indicating  their  preference  for 
still  life,  they  looked  upon  Biddy,  as,  in  rigid  mobility,  she 
sat  motionless  and  silent,  inly  enjoying  their  pranks,  as 
merely  a  portion  of  the  furniture,  and  so  had  as  much 
right  to  jump  on  her  shoulder,  and  hunt  each  other's  tail, 
over  and  about  her  as  upon  anything  else  in  the  room. 
Certain  it  is  they  did  not  respect  her  a  whit  more  than  an 
old  table,  and  Biddy,  delighted  with  such  familiarity,  put 
no   restraint    on    their   impertinence.     A    dingy   curtain, 
reaching   half-way  across    the   room,  concealed   a  large, 
rudely-finished  mirror-frame,  which  Biddy  found  extremely 
useful  on  several  occasions.     There  were  none  of  the  awe- 
compelling   accessories   of    the    magic    art,   no   alligator 

1* 


154:  THE      F  O  li  T  U  :X  E  -  T  E  L  L  E  E . 

stuffed,  no  hissing  cauldron,  no  expensive  globes ;  nothing, 
save  an  old  black-letter  folio,  Biddy's  universal  book  of 
reference,  and  a  terribly  dirty  pack  of  cards,  the  marks 
nearly  effaced  from  constant  use,  being  the  second,  which, 
in  a  long  life  of  fortune-telling,  she  had  ever  consulted. 
Adapting  her  mode  of  operations  to  the  wish  of  her  appli- 
cant, Biddy  had  variojis  ways  of  penetrating  the  clouds  of 
futurity,  enumerating  them  to  the  curious  visitor  as  fol- 
lows: "Wirra,  thin,  it's  welcome  that  yez  are  to  ould 
Biddy  na  Dhioul ;  may  you  niver  know  sickness,  sorrow, 
poverty,  or  disthress.  It's  myself  that  can  tell  yer  fortune, 
whativer  it  is.  I  can  tell  it  be  the  stars,  or  the  cards,  be 
the  tay-grounds,  coffee-grounds,  meltid  lead,  or  baccy- 
ashes  ;  be  signs,  an'  moles,  an'  dhrames ;  be  the  witch's 
glass,  or  be  yer  own  good-lookin'  hand." 

The  great  secret  of  Biddy's  success  was,  that  all  her 
auguries  presaged  some  amount  of  good,  and  it  was 
observed  that  the  larger  the  piece  of  silver  with  which  her 
hand  was  crossed,  the  more  extensive  was  the  fortune  pre- 
dicted. A  ^'' fippenny-bit^^^  might  produce  a  ^^  smart  boy 
for  a  husband^''  but  ''''half  a  crown''''  would  insure  a  '•'•  jaunt- 
ing car^''  or,  hint  obliquely  at  "  the  young  masther^''  give 
mysterious  foreshadowings  of  "  silken  gounds^''  and  an 
'"  ilig ant  family  of  childherT  A  cute  old  soul  was  Biddy, 
and  extensive  the  knowledge  experience  had  given  her  of 
the  pregnable  points  of  general  character.  AMiy  should 
we  not  give  her  a  call  ? 

I'll  just  tell  you  a  fev\'  secrets,  known  only  to  two  or 
three  indinduals  besides  myself  and  as  some  of  them  will 


THE     FORTUNE-TELLEE.  155 

be  very  likely  to  need  Biddy's  assistance,  we  shall  uncere- 
moniously accompany  them  on  their  visit. 

It  is  Sunday  ;  mass  is  just  over ;  the  sober  gravity  of 
the  morning  (for  no  people  are  more  earnest  in  the  per- 
formance of  their  religious  duties  during  the  time  so  allotted, 
than  are  the  Irish  peasantry),  is  beginning  to  change  to 
a  general  aspect  of  enjoyment.  The  girls  in  their  neat, 
clean  dresses,  are  tripping  along  homeward  ;  and  many  a 
bonnet  and  shawl,  or  calico  dress,  is  descanted  upon, 
praised  or  censured  according  to  the  opinion  of  the 
speaker,  for  the  universal  duty  of  the  feminine  chapel  or 
church-goer,  is  to  criticise  at  intervals  the  dresses  of  her 
neighbors. 

"  Athin,  Mary,"  says  one,  "  did  you  ever  see  such  a  pat- 
tern of  a  gound  as  Miss  Machree  had  on  her  back  this 
blessed  day ;  if  it  hadn't  as  many  colors  in  it  as  would 
make  nigh  hand  half  a  dozen  rainbows,  I  hope  I  may  turn 
into  a  nagur.  I  declare  to  my  goodness,  I  wouldn't  give 
my  ould  washed-out  gound  for  two  of  the  likes  of  it." 

Wouldn't  she  ? 

"  True  for  you,  Nell,"  replies  another,  "  an'  did  you 
remark  purty  Norah,  as  the  boys  call  her  ?  Purty,  indeed ! 
it  wouldn't  take  bhnd  Barty,  the  piper,  a  month  of  Sun 
days  to  see  all  the  purty  there  is  about  her.  /  wouldn't 
be  seen  with  such  a  nose  on  my  face ;  an'  she  comin'  over 
us  wid  the  pride  of  a  sthraw  bonnet,  this  beautiful  sum- 
mer's day ;  the  hood  of  an  ould  grey  -cloak  was  good 
enough  for  the  mother  before  her,  to  wear.  It  isn't  dis- 
gracin'  my  mother's  memory  I'd  be,  by  puttin'  sthraw  bon- 
nets on  my  head." 


166  tup:    f  o  ii  t  u  :^  e  -  t  e  l  l  £  b  . 

"  Well,  it  is  a  shame ;  do  you  know  what  I've  heerd  ?** 

"What?" 

"AVhv,  neither  more  nor  less  than  that  purty  Miss 
Norah  is  setting  her  sthraw  bonnet  at  Pat  Kinchela." 

"No!" 

"  It's  the  heaven's  truth  ;  didn't  I  see  her  to  day,  lookin* 
at  him  dhreadful  ?  /  wouldn't  look  at  a  man  the  way  she 
did,  no,  not  if  he  was  made  of  goold." 

"  Whist !  Nelly ;  look  yondher  !  if  there  isn't  Pat,  see 
and  that  consated  minx  walkin'  arm-in-arm;  bless  your 
sowl,  there's  quality  manners  for  ye.  I  wonder,  for  my 
part,  the  road  doesn't  open  and  swally  such  impidence 
right  up ;  now  just  obsarve  them,  sthruttin'  along  as  if 
everybody  else  was  the  dirt  undher  their  feet.  Well,  if 
that'  isn't  owdaciousness,  I  wish  somebody  would  tell  me 
what  is." 

But,  inasmuch  as  our  story  has  more  to  do  with  Pat 
and  Norah  than  with  those  chattering  specimens  of  a 
rather  numerous  class,  we'll  attend  to  them^  and  let  the 
others  go  about  their  business — of  detraction. 

Pat  has  just  hazarded  an  important  question,  as  would 
appear  from  the  sudden  and  more  brilliant  flush  that 
spread  ov^r  pretty  Norah's  cheek,  than  from  any  signifi- 
cancy  in  her  reply,  which  was  simply  : 

"  You're  mighty  impident  to-day,  Mr.  Kinchela." 

"  Athin,  Norieen,  jewel,"  answered  Pat,  "  if  it  comes  to 
the  rights  of  the  thing,  how  the  divil  can  I  help  it  ?  Sure 
an'  haven't  you  kept  me  danglin'  afther  you  for  nigh  hand 
a  twel'month,  an'  it's  neither  yis  nor  no,  that  I  can  squeeze 
out  of  your  purty  little  mouth." 


THE     FORTUNE-TELLEB.  X57 

"  All,  indeed  !"  said  Norah,  with  tlie  shadow  of  a  pout 
that  might  have  been  simulated,  "  then  I  suppose  you'd  be 
satisfied  whichever  it  was." 

"Faix,  yis  would  be  satisfactory  enough,"  replied  Pat, 
who  did  his  wooing  in  rather  a  careless  manner,  philosophi- 
cally. 

"  And  if  it  happened  to  be  no  ?" 

"  Why,  thin,  I  suppose  I'd  have  to  put  up  wid  that  for 
the  want  of  a  betther." 

"  An'  try  your  luck  somewhere  else,  may-be  ?**  continued 
Norah,  with  a  dash  of  lemon. 

"  An'  why  not  ?"  answered  Pat,  with  apparent  careless- 
ness. "  If  you  couldn't  ketch  a  throut  in  one  place,  you 
wouldn't  come  back  wid  an  empty  basket,  would  you  ? 
imless,  may-be,  you  had  no  particular  appetite  for  fish." 

"  Then,  sir,  you  have  my  permission  to  bait  your  hook 
as  soon  as  you  like,  for  I  have  no  idea  of  nibblin',"  said 
Norah,  letting  go  Pat's  arm,  and  walking  very  fast—  not  so 
fast,  though,  but  that  our  cavalier  friend  could  keep  up 
with  her,  flinging  in  occasional  morsels  of  aggravation. 

"  Now,  don't  be  foolish,  Norah ;  you're  only  tellin'  on 
yourself.  The  boys  will  see  that  we've  had  a  tiflf,  and  the 
girls  will  be  sure  to  say  you're  jealous.^^ 

"  Jealous,  indeed  !  I  must  love  you  first,  Mr.  Impidence." 

"  So  you  do." 

"  I  ain't  such  a  fool,  sir^  ' 

"  Yes,  you  are,  ma'am  ;  an*  what's  more  nor  that,  you 
can't  help  it,  ma'am.^^ 

"Can't  I?" 


168  THE     FOETUXE-TELLEK. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it  You've  caught  the  sickness,  an*  it*8 
the  goolden  ring  that'll  cure  you,  an'  nothin'  besides." 

"  It  isn't  you  that'll  be  docthor,  anyway." 

"  The  divil  a  one  else." 

"  High  hangin'  to  all  liars." 

"  I'd  say  that,  too,  only  I  wouldn't  like  to  lose  you,  No- 
rah,  afther  all.  Come  now,  darlin',"  he  went  on,  varying 
his  tactics,  "  don't  let  us  quarrel  on  this  blessed  day  ;  let 
us  make  it  up  acush  ;  take  a  howld  of  my  arm,  this  right 
arm,  that  would  work  itself  up  to  the  elbow  to  do  you  any 
sarvice,  or  smash  into  small  pitatys  the  blaggard  that  oS'ered 
you  the  ghost  of  an  offiuce." 

This  blarney-flavored  speech  had  some  effect  upon  Norah, 
yet  she  concealed  it  like — a  woman,  sinking  it  down  into 
her  heart,  and  calling  up  a  vast  amount  of  anger  to  over- 
whelm it.  Is  it  at  all  astonishing  that  the  latter  flew  away 
in  words,  while  the  former  nestled  there  for  ever  ?  Poor, 
foolish  little  Norah,  her  real  feeling  concealed  by  the  cloud 
of  temper  she  had  raised,  thought  at  that  moment  there 
was  not  a  more  unlovable  being  in  existence  than  Pat,  and 
what's  more,  she  said  so. 

"  Mr.  Kinchela,"  said  she,  in  her  iciest  manner,  ''  I'm 
obleeged  to  you  for  your  company,  such  as  it  is,  but  here 
is  Cousin  Pether,  an'  you  needn't  throuble  yerself,  or  be 
wearin  out  shoe-leather  any  more  comin'  afther  me." 

"  Norah  1"  said  Pat,  suddenly  stricken  into  gravity,  "  are 
you  in  airnest  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  the  best  of  good  mornin's,  sir ;"  and  taking 
Cousin  Peter's  arm,  with  a  provoking  smile  on  her  lip,  and 


THE    F  0  li  T  U  N  K  -  T  E  L  L  E  K  .  159 

triumph  in  her  eye,  oflf  went  Norah,  leavnng  Pat  gazing 
after  her,  looking  rather  the  reverse  of  wise — once  only 
did  she  turn  as  she  passed  the  corner  of  the  street,  but  that 
simple  circumstance  rekindled  hope  within  Pat's  soul. 

As  he  was  thus  standing,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  ob- 
servation he  attracted,  he  was  suddenly  accosted  by  his  best 
friend,  Jim  Dermot. 

"  Why,  tear  an'  nounthers,"  said  Jim,  "  is  it  ketchin' 
flies,  or  fairy -sthruck,  or  dead  all  out  you  are,  Pat,  avic  ? 
why,  you  look  the  picther  of  misfortune,  hung  in  a  black 
frame." 

"  Hollo,  Jim,  is  that  you  ?"  cried  Pat,  w^aking  out  of  his 
reverie,  "  wasn't  that  too  bad  intirely  ?" 

"  So  it  was — what  was  it  ?"  replied  Jim. 

"  Why,  to  lave  me  stuck  here  like  a  post,  and  to  go  oflf 
wid  that  omadhaun  Pether." 

"  Well,  it  was  quare,  sure  enough,"  replied  Jim,  without 
the  slightest  idea  what  Pat  was  driving  at,  yet  hoping  to 
arrive  at  it  better  from  an  apparent  knowledge  than  by 
downright  questioning.  "  To  run  off,"  he  continued,  "  an' 
wid  Pether,  of  all  fellows  in  the  world  ;"  adding  to  himself, 
"  I  wondher  who  the  divil  Pether  is,  and  where  he's  run 
to  ?" 

"  I  didn't  think  she  could  sarve  me  so,"  said  Pat. 

"  Oh  !  it's  a  she  that's  in  it,  is  it  ?"  thought  Jim,  saying, 
with  a  sage  shake  of  the  head,  "  I  nivir  would  have  b'lieved 
it  of  her  myself;  but  wimin  is  conihrary  divils,  an'  that's 
the  truth.     When  did  she  go,  Pat  ?" 

"  Why,  now,  this  very  minute." 


160  THE     fORTUNE-TELLER. 

"  You  don't  say  ?  wpll,  an'  what  do  you  mane  to  do  ?" 

"  Do  ?  why,  nothing  ;  what  would  you  do  ?'' 

"  Well,  I  believe  I'd  do  that  same.,  Pat,  an'  nothin'  elsfr." 

"  It  isn't  very  likely  that  I'll  let  her  know  how  much  her 
conduct  has  hurt  me." 

"  It  might  make  her  consated." 

"She's  a  shameless  jilt." 

"  That  she  is,  as  sure  as  her  name  is what  it  is," 

said  Jim,  hoping  Pat  would  fill  up  the  pause. 

"  What  would  you  advise  me  to  do,  Jim  ?"  inquired  Pat. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  other,  "  it's  a  mighty 
delicate  point  to  give  a  man  advice  upon ;  but  if  you'd  be 
ruled  by  me  you'd  go  au'  ax  ould  Biddy  na  Dhioul." 

"  By  gorra,  but  you're  right  there,"  said  Pat,  "  I  won- 
dher  I  didn't  think  of  that  afore." 

"  It  isn't  too  late." 

"  True  for  you  ;  an'  it's  there  I'll  go  this  blessed  minute. 
I'd  rather  know  my  fate  at  oust,  than  be  kep'  like  a  mouse 
in  a  thrap,  wondhering  whether  the  cat'll  play  wid  me,  or 
ate  me  in  the  mornin'." 

"  So,  it  is  thrapped  you  are,  Pat,  is  it  ?  arrah,  how  did 
you  manage  that  ?" 

"Faix,  an'  I  walked  into  it  wid  my  eyes  open,  like  any 
other  omadhoun  of  a  mouse." 

"  Bedad,  it  takes  a  sinsible  mouse  to  walk  away  from  the 
smell  of  cheese,  anyway,  Pat." 

"That's  a  fact,  Jim,  but  I  must  be  off  to  ould  Biddy's : 
I'll  get  my  mind  aised  one  way  or  the  other,  wid  a  blessin' 
afore  I  sleep." 


THE     FOKTUNE-TELLEB.  161 

"  Good  luck  attend  you,"  said  Jim,  sorely  mortified  that 
with  all  his  cunning,  he  couldn't  get  at  the  rights  of  the 
matter. 

Pat  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Biddy's  cabin,  truly  in 
a  miserable  state  of  mind :  this,  the  first  obstacle  to  his 
love,  had  so  increased  its  strength  and  intensity.  After  he 
had  knocked  once  or  twice  the  door  opened,  and  he  found 
Biddy  in  her  usual  position,  surrounded  by  her  usual  play- 
mates. 

"  God  save  you,  Biddy,"  said  he,  taking  a  seat,  and  brush- 
ing the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  "  you're  a  knowledgea- 
ble woman,  an'  can  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know." 

"  In  coorse,  I  can,  Mr.  Pat  Kinchela,  whativer  it  is ;  not 
that  I  pretind  to  tell  anything  but  what  the  iligant  stars 
prognostify,"  replied  Biddy,  gravely  referring  to  her  mira- 
culous volume,  not  that  she  had  the  slightest  occasion  to 
employ  her  shrewd  plan  of  pumping  this  time  ;  she  knew 
all  about  it. 

"  The  saints  be  good  to  us,  Pat,  darlin',''  she  suddenly 
exclaimed,  "  but  here's  a  bitther  disappointment  for  some 
one." 

"  Not  for  me,  Biddy ;  don't  say  for  me,"  cried  Pat, 
"  here,  take  this,  an'  this,  pouring  out  all  the  copper,  very 
thinly  intersected  with  silver,  which  he  had  about  him, 
into  her  apron  ;  now,  give  us  a  good  fortune  if  you  can ; 
long  life  to  you." 

"  I  didn't  say  it  was  for  you,  did  I  ?  just  howld  your 
whist,  an'  let  the  stars  work  without  bein'  hindhered,  for 
they're  niighty  fractious  now  and  thin,"  said  Biddy,  mum- 


162  THE     FORTFNE-TELLEE. 

bling  some  unintelligible  expressions  and  slily  counting 
the  while  the  extent  of  Pat's  donation.  The  result  was 
satisfactory. 

"  Pat,  jewel,"  she  said,  "  howld  up  your  head,  for  there's 
money  bid  for  you — you'll  be  a  thremendious  rich  man 
yet." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  care  for  that,"  he  interrupted,  "  tell  me 
of"— 

"  Norah  Malone,"  quietly  interrupted  Biddy. 

Pat  was  wonder-stricken,  he  gasped  for  breath. 

"  It's  thrue,  then,  that  you  do  know  everything,  Biddy." 

"  A'most  everything,"  replied  the  old  crone. 

"Then,  it's  no  use  in  my  telling  you,"  continued  Pat, 
"  how  every  life-dhrop  of  my  heart  was  devoted  to  that 
same  girl,  how  every  wakin'  thought,  an'  every  sleepin' 
dhrame  was  filled  up  with  her ;  now  I've  lost  her,  and  the 
sunshine  of  my  life  is  gone  with  her  for  ever." 

"I  know  it  all" 

"  But  what — what  am  I  to  do  ?  tell  me,  or  I  shall  go 
mad." 

"  Thry  your  luck  somewhere  else." 

"  Pshaw  !  I  might  as  well  thry  to  stop  the  tide  with  a 
pitchfork." 

"  You  do  really  love  her,  then  ?" 

**  Love  her !     Why  do  you  ask  ?     Do  you  doubt  it  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  That  shows  how  much  you  know,  and  now  I  doubt 
your  power  to  tell  any  one's  thoughts,  since  you  can't  tell 


THE     FORTUNE-TELLER.  163 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  I  can,  if  you  want  me  to  prove  it.  I'll 
tell  you  who  you're  thinking  of  at  this  moment." 

"  Do,  and  I'll  believe  anything.'* 

"  Cousin  Pether  /" 

Pat  fairly  started  from  his  seat ;  large  drops  suddenly 
gathered  on  his  brow  ;  he  was  frightened. 

Biddy,  seeing  her  advantage,  went  on  :  "  You're  a  purty 
fellow,  to  call  my  power  in  question.  I've  a  great  mind  to 
make  you  feel  it  in  airnest.     Will  I  go  on  or  not  ?" 

"  Go  on  ;  anything,"  said  Pat ;  "  I'll  say  no  more." 

Biddy  then  shuffled  the  dirty  pack  of  cards,  cut  and  set 
them  out  in  her  lap,  saying,  as  she  proceeded  :  "  Bad — 
nothing  but  bad  luck.  There,  that  queen  of  clubs  is  your 
sweetheart,  and  that  knave  of  hearts  must  be  Cousin  Pe- 
ther ;  he's  rather  carroty -headed." 

Pat  groaned. 

"  Here's  a  wedding,"  Biddy  went  on,  "  and  lots  of  money, 
to  who  ?  Let  me  see  :  if  it  isn't  to  that  knave  of  hearts 
again." 

"  Curse  the  knave  of  hearts,"  cried  Pat,  starting  up,  "  I 
have  had  enough  of  this.  I  do  believe  you've  been  playin' 
wid  me  all  this  time.     Good-bye  " — 

"  Stay  one  minute ;  you  think  I've  been  playing  with 
you,  eh  ?"  said  the  old  witch,  rising,  and  speaking  in  a 
mysteriously  solemn  tone  of  voice,  "  Young  man,  have  you 
strength  of  mind  enough  to  look  upon  the  magic  glass,  and 
have  your  eyes  convinced  ?" 

"  What  mean  you  ?"  exclaimed  Pat. 

"  To  show  you  what  you  least  wish  to  se^— Norah  and 
her  cousin  in  each  otiier's  arms." 


164  THE     FORTUNE-TELLEE. 

"  Impossible ;  you're  juggling  with  me  now ;  you  cannot 
show  me  that." 

"  Look  /"  screamed  old  Biddy,  tearing  back  the  dingy 
curtain — and  there,  sure  enough,  within  the  frame  of  the 
mirror,  locked  in  each  other's  embrace,  were  Norah  and 
Peter. 

The  suddenness  of  the  disclosure,  combined  with  the 
terror  of  the  moment,  acting  upon  a  frame  rendered  weak 
from  apprehension,  made  the  blood  rush  into  the  brain  of 
the  unfortunate  lover,  and  without  uttering  a  sound,  he  fell 
heavily  to  the  .floor  in  a  faint. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  was  restored  to  conscious- 
ness, when  the  first  form  that  fell  upon  his  sight  was  that 
of  the  detested  Peter.  He  shut  his  eyes  in  the  misery  of 
unavailing  rage,  but  opened  them  again  in  astonishment, 
as  a  well-known  voice  whispered  in  his  ear : 

"  Dear  Pat,  it's  your  own  Norah  that's  beside  you." 

Pat's  delight  was  perfectly  indescribable,  and  I  shrink 
from  the  responsibility  of  attempting  it ;  suffice  it  to  say, 
for  the  elucidation  of  our  mystery,  that  Norah  and  Peter 
were  beforehand  with  him  at  old  Biddy's,  when,  seeing  him 
approach,  they  hid  themselves  behind  the  curtain.  Norah 
had  such  a  convincing  proof  of  Pat's  truthful  love,  that 
she  never  quarrelled  with  him  again — at  least  before  they 
were  married  :  of  their  further  proceedings  1  frankly?  con- 
fess my  ignorance. 


THE     FAIRY     CIRCLE.  1C5 


THE    FAIRY   CIRCLE. 

♦'  Don't  be  conthrairj 
"Wtth  an  Irish  fairy, 
Or,  I  declare,  he 

Won't  regard  you  much; 
But  be  complaisant, 
When  that  he's  adjacent, 
And  he'll  use  you  dacent, 
If  you  merit  such," 

"  CoRNEY  ;  a\nc  ?" 

"  Ma'm  to  you." 

"  What  the  mischief  are  you  thinking  so  tkremendious 
hard  about  ?" 

"  Me  thoughts  is  me  own,  anyway,  Missis  O'Carrol." 

"Unless,  may-be,  you  borrowed  them  from  some  one 
else ;  an'  that's  most  likely,  Mr.  O'Carrol ;  for  the  niver  an 
original  idaya  did  I  obsarve  iminatin'  from  your  own  sinsa- 
bilities,  sence  here  I've  been." 

"  Exceptin'  once." 

*'  An'  whin  was  that,  may  I  ax  ?'* 

"  Whin  I  tuk  it  into  me  foolish  head  to  marry  you." 

"  An'  have  you  the  owdashious  vanity  to  suppose  that 
nobody  thought  that  before  you  ?" 

"Not  to  me  knowledge,  Mrs.  O'C." 

"  The  saints  be  good  to  us !     There's  a  dale  of  ignorance 


166  THE     FAIRT     CIRCLE. 

in  the  world  ;  but  come  now,  tell  me,  what  is  it  that  makes 
you  lave  off  your  work,  evry  now  an'  thin,  lookin',  for  all 
the  world,  as  cute  as  a  concaited  gandherT 

"  Why,  thin,  Moll  machree^  I'll  tell  you ;  but  you  must 
promise  not  to  make  fun  o'  me,  for  it's  your  good  that's 
iver  foremost  in  me  heart." 

"  The  blessin's  on  your  lovin'  sowl !  I  know  it  is." 

"  Well,  then,  Moll,  come  an'  sit  near  me,  an'  lave  off 
polishin'  up  that  owld  copper  kittle ;  for  I  want  to  spake 
mighty  sarious  to  you.  Haven't  you  noticed  that  big, 
slated  house  that's  just  builded  up,  fornenst  our  very 
nose  ?" 

"  Of  coorse  I  have." 

"  Yes,  but  do  you  know  who's  livin'  in  it  ?  Who,  but 
young  Phil  Blake,  that  was  as  poor  as  a  thranieen,  an'  as 
ragged  as  a  mountain  goat,  in  his  ivry-day  clothes,  not 
more  nor  six  months  ago  2" 

»  You  don't  say  !" 

"  It's  the  mortial  truth ;  didn't  I  see  him  awhile  ago, 
struttin'  up  an'  down  the  place,  as  proud  as  any  other  pay- 
cock,  wid  a  blew  coat  on  his  back,  covered  over  wid  brass 
buttons,  a'most  as  big  as  fryin'  pans,  enough  to  dazzle 
the  eyes  out  of  a  Christian's  head  ;  an'  he  ordherin'  the 
min  about,  as  importint  as  you  plaze.  Phil  Blake,  of  all 
fellows  in  the  worrild^  that  niver  had  the  ghost  of  a  fip- 
penny-bit  to  bless  himself  wid,  to  see  him  now,  craramin' 
his  fists  into  his  breeches  pockets,  an  jinkin'  the  goold  an* 
the  silver  about,  in  the  most  aggravatin'  way." 

"  But  where  did  he  get  it  all  ?" 


THE     FAIRY      CIRCLE.  167 

**  That's  the  chat — where  ?     Guess,  won't  vou  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  may-be  some  rich  ould  lady  fell  in  love 
wid  him." 

"  Is  it  wid  Phil  ?  Small  chance  of  that,  I'm  thinkin'. 
Guess  agin." 

"  May-be  he  had  a  lawshuit !" 

"  Be  my  sowkins,  you're  further  in  the  mud  than  iver, 
MoU-shee.  Lawshuits  isn't  the  stuff  goold  mines  is  made 
of;  if  so,  it's  only  the  lawyers  that's  licensed  to  dig.  I'll 
tell  you.  Last  night,  meself  an'  a  few  boys  was  takin'  a 
jug  of  punch,  at  the  "  Cross  Kays,"  whin  one  of  them  up 
and  towld  us  all  about  it.  Moll,  as  thrue  as  you're  here, 
it  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  sl  fairy-gift. ^^ 

"No!" 

"  Gospel !  He  cotch  one  of  the  little  schamers  (saving 
their  prisince,  for  I  suppose  there's  a  lot  of  thim  listenin', 
if  we  knew  where  they  were  perched),  an'  so,  he  wouldn't 
let  him  go  until  he  gave  him  hapes  of  money.  Why,  they 
say  Phil's  as  rich  as  an  archbishop !" 

"  But,  Corney,  darlin',  don't  you  know  that  fairy  money 
niver  thrives  ?  let  us  wish  Blake  good  luck,  and  think  no 
more  about  it." 

"  Pooh  !  Nonsense !  He  has  luck  enough  ;  we  had 
better  wish  ourselves  a  slice.  Money's  money,  Moll ;  a 
fairy  groat  would  pay  for  a  pot  of  portlier  just  as  aisily  as 
Father  Fogarty's.  It  isn't  that  I'm  over  covetious,  but  I 
can't  help  envyin'  Phil." 

"  An'  you  see  what  harm  even  the  first  beginnin'  of  such 
a  feelin'  does.     All  this  blessed  day,  you've  hardly  done  a 


168  THE     FAIRY     CIRCLE. 

stitch  of  work ;  instead  of  makin'  the  lapstone  echo  with 
the  sound  of  your  merry  voice,  you've  been  lookin'  as  dis- 
thracted  as  a  sthray  pig ;  why,  you  haven't  even  kissed  the 
babby  sence  dinner.  Go  to  work,  Corney,  while  I  get  a 
cup  of  tay  ready.  Thank  God,  we've  never  wanted  for  a 
male's  vittles  yet,  and  have  always  a  plinty  in  the  house, 
agin  we  do." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  but  haven't  I  to  work  for  it,  day 
afther  dayl  No  rest;  nothing  but  slave,  slave,  slave,  from 
year's  end  to  year's  end,  while  gintlefolks,  like  Phil,  bad 
'cess  to  him,  can  sthroU  up  an'  down  the  sunny-side  of  the 
street,  smoke  as  many  pipes  of  tibbacky  as  they  plaze; 
have  roast  beef  ev'ry  Sunday,  an'  wear  top-boots.  Mur- 
dher  alive !     It's  a  great  thing  to  be  one  of  the  quality P 

"  Well,  the  mischief  has  got  into  you,  I  b'lieve.  Corney, 
you  niver  tuk  such  a  fit  as  this,  afore." 

"  Niver  mind,  Moll,  I  know  what  I  know  ;  luck's  like  a 
fox ;  you  have  to  hunt  it  hard  before  you  ketch  it ;  the 
divil  a  toe  will  it  come  to  you.  There's  plinty  of  fairies 
about,  an'  who  knows  but  there  may  be  as  lucky  chaps  as 
Phil  Blake  in  the  worrild^'' 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  above  conversation,  Corney 
silently  resumed  his  work,  endeavoring  to  add  another 
piece  to  a  wonderfully  patched  brogue,  while  Mary  busied 
herself  at  the  little  bright  turf-fire,  boiling  the  water  for 
tea — a  few  scanty  grains  of  some  apochrypbal  herb,  repre- 
senting that  indispensable  delicacy.  She  holds  a  rasher  of 
exceedingly  fat  bacon  on  the  end  of  a  fork,  which  screws 
and  twists  itself  about  like  some  living  thing   enduring 


THE     FAIKT     CIKCLE.  169 

fierce  agony,  while  a  sleepy-looking  puss,  with  her  tail 
twisted  comfortably  around  her  paws  like  a  muff,  sits  intently 
watching  the  operation,  evidently  wondering  in  her  own 
mind  what  it  can  possibly  be  that  spits  so  cat-like  and  so 
spitefully  into  the  fire.  The  walls  of  the  little  room  are 
comfortably  whitewashed ;  only  one  broken  pane  of  glass 
in  the  window,  and  that  neatly  mended  with  a  piece  of  old 
newspaper ;  the  dresser  is  as  white  as  soap  and  sand 
applied  by  tidy  hands  can  make  it,  while  the  few  house- 
hold utensils  that  adorn  it,  shine  to  the  utmost  extent  of 
their  capability.  It's  hardly  necessary  to  say,  that  a  good, 
cleanly,  homely  and  sensible  wife,  was  Mary  O'Carrol ;  and 
our  friend  Corney  was  an  ungrateful  rascal  to  be  dissatis- 
fied with  his  condition.  The  mistake  he  made  was  this 
(and  it  is  by  no  means  confined  to  Corney),  he  contrasted 
his  situation  in  life  with  the  few  who  were  better  off  than 
himself  instead  of  the  many  who  were  infinitely  worse. 

And  now,  dear,  domestic,  tidy  Maiy  spreads  her  little 
cloth,  coarse  'tis  true,  but  scrupulously  clean  and  ironed, 
every  fold  showing  like  a  printed  line ;  she  opens  a  little 
cupboard  and  produces  an  enormous  home-baked  loaf,  so 
close  and  dense  that  a  dyspeptic  individual  would  feel  an 
oppression  by  merely  looking  at  it,  but  which  our  toil- 
hungered  friends  can  dispose  of  by  the  pound,  without  the 
assistance  of  tonics ;  then,  the  small,  black  teapot,  having 
stood  the  conventional  time,  is  carefully  wiped,  and  placed 
on  the  table,  and  the  whole  frugal  but  comfortable  meal 
arrayed  with  that  appetizing  neatness  without  which  it 
becomes  a  mere  matter  of  feeding  and  not  of  enjoyment. 

8 


170  THE     FAIRY     CIRCLE. 

"  Now,  Corney,  dear,"  said  Mary,  "  tay's  ready." 

"  Faix,  an'  there's  a  pair  of  us,"  replied  Corney,  "  Fm 
just  about  as  hungiy  as  a  dragiii." 

And  no  gourmet,  even  after  he  had  lashed  his  appetite 
with  .stimulants,  which  would  otherwise  have  sneaked 
away  from  the  laborious  work  it  had  to  undergo,  ever  sat 
down  with  so  keen  a  palate,  or  rose  from  table  with  so 
capital  a  sense  of  satisfaction  as  did  Corney  on  this  par- 
ticular occasion. 

"  Well,  Molly  machree,"  he  cried,  "  I  don't  know  that  I 
iver  had  a  greater  thrate  nor  that  same  rasher;  if  the  fat 
of  it  wasn't,  for  all  the  worrild,  like  double-distilled  marra, 
may  I  niver  use  another  tooth;  an'  that  ta?/ /  Gogs 
hleahey,  Moll,  if  you  haven't  a  recait  for  squeezin'  the  par- 
liaminthary  flaviour  out  of  the  herrib !  regard  the  color 
of  it!" 

"  An'  afther  three  wathers,"  replied  Mary,  with  pardona- 
ble vanity. 

"  Thrue  for  you,  darlin' ;  why,  the  bread  seems  lighter, 
an'  the  butther  sweeter,  an'  the  crame  thicker.  I'll  be 
judged  by  the  cat — look  at  the  baste ;  if  she  hasn't  been 
thryin'  to  lick  the  last  dhrop  ofi'  of  her  hushkers,  for  as 
good  as  a  quarther  of  an  hour,  an'  it's  stickin'  there  still, 
as  tight  as  a  carbuncle  to  a  Christian's  nose  ;  an'  may-be 
I  ain't  goin'  to  enjoy  this,"  he  continued,  as  drawing  his 
chair  close  to  the  fire,  out  came  his  use-blackened  pipe. 
He  took  just  as  much  time  in  preparation,  cutting  his 
tobacco  and  rolling  it  about  in.  his  hand,  as  Mary  did  to 
clear  away  the  tea-things,  in  order  that  nothing  should 


THE     FAIRY     CIKCLE.  171 

interfere  witli  that  great  source  of  comfort — his  smoke. 
Ilaviiig  phiced  a  small  piece  of  lighted  turf  on  top  of  his 
pipe  he  tiirew  himself  back  in  his  chair.  With  eyes  half 
closed,  and  an  expression  of  the  most  profound  gratifica- 
tion creeping  over  his  features,  he  sent  torth  several  volu- 
minous whiffs — what  lie  called  "  saysonin'  his  mouth ;" 
but  very  soon,  as  though  the  sensation  was  too  delicious  to 
be  hurried  over,  he  subsided  into  a  slow,  dignified,  and 
lazy  smoke,  saying,  between  puffs  : 

"  Blessin's  on  the  fellow  that  first  invented  'baccy  ;  it's 
mate  an'  dhrink  to  the  poor  man ;  I'd  be  on  me  oath,  if  I 
wouldn't  rather  lose  me  dinner  nor  me  pipe,  any  day  in 
the  week." 

"  Where  did  'baccy  come  from,  Corney  ?"  inquired 
Mary. 

"  Why,  from  'Meriky  ;  where  else  ?"  he  replied,  "  that 
sint  us  the  first  pitaty.     Long  life  to  it,  for  both,  say  I !" 

"  What  sort  of  a  place  is  that,  I  wonder  ?" 

"  'Meriky,  is  it  ?  They  tell  me  it's  mighty  sizable,  Moll, 
darlin'.  I'm  towld  that  you  might  rowl  England  through 
it,  an'  it  would  hardly  make  a  dent  in  the  ground  ;  there's 
fresh  water  oceans  inside  of  it  that  you  might  dround  Ire- 
land in,  and  save  Father  Matthew  a  wonderful  sight  of 
throuble ;  an'  as  for  Scotchlaud,  you  might  stick  it  in  a 
corner  of  one  of  their  forests,  an'  you'd  niver  be  able  to 
find  it  out,  except,  may-be,  it  might  be  by  the  smell  of  the 
whisky.  If  I  had  only  a  thrifle  of  money,  I'd  go  an'  seek 
me  fortune  there." 

"  Arrah,  thin,  what  for  Comey  ?" 


172  THE     FAIET     CIRCLE. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know  ;  I'm  not  aisj  in  me  mind.  If  we 
were  only  as  rich  now  as  Phil  Blake,  how  happy  we  might 
be !" 

There  was  the  cloud  that  shut  out  content  from  Corney's 
heart — far-sighted  envy,  that  looks  with  longing  eyes  on 
distant  objects,  regardless  of  the  comfort  near.  Most  stu- 
pid envy^  which  relinquishes  the  good  within  its  grasp  to 
reach  at  something  better  unattainable,  and  only  becomes 
conscious  of  its  folly  when  time  has  swept  away  the  sub- 
stance and  the  shadow. 

"  It  was  the  fairies  that  gave  it  to  him,"  resumed  Corney, 
as  though  communing  with  himself,  while  poor  Mary,  with 
a  fond  wife's  prescience,  mourned,  as  she  foresaw  that  the 
indulgence  of  this  new  feeling  would,  most  probably,  change 
her  hitherto  industrious  mate  into  an  idle  \nsionary. 

"  The  Fairies  ! — An'  why  the  divil  shouldn't  they  give 
one  man  a  taste  of  good  luck,  as  well  as  another  ?  I'll  do 
it — I  will — this  very  blessed  night — Fll  do  it !" 

"  Do  what  ?"  interrupted  Mary,  in  alarm. 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing! — an' yet,  I've  niver  kept  any- 
thing from  you,  Molly,  an'  I  don't  know  why  I  should  now  ! 
Sure,  it's  you  that'll  have  the  binifit  of  it,  if  it  comes  to 
good." 

"Dear  Corney,"  replied  Mary,  "I'm  happy  enough  as  it 
is,  so  long  as  Heaven  gives  us  strength  to  provide  for  each 
other's  wants,  an'  you  continue  to  be,  what  you  always 
have  been,  a  good  husband  to  me.  I'd  rather  not  be 
throubled  with  any  more." 

"It's  nothin'  but  right  for  you  to  say  so,  Mary,  darlin'," 


THE     FAIRY     CIRCLE.  173 

returned  Corney ;  "  but  now,  siipposin'  that  I  could  make 
a  lady  of  you — eh?  Think  of  bein'  able  to  wear  a  fine 
silken  gound,  an'  a  beautiful  sthraw  bonnet,  wid  a  real 
feather  stuck  in  it ;  wouldn't  you  jerk  your  showlders  to 
show  ofl"  the  silk,  an'  toss  your  purty  head  for  to  humor 
the  feather  ?" 

I  must  confess  Mary's  heart  did  flutter  a  little,  at  the 
mention  of  the  silk  gown  and  the  feather.  Corney  saw 
his  advantage,  and  continued, 

"  You  know  how  it  was  Phil  got  his  money ;  it  was  by 
sleepin  in  ^  fairy  circle.  I  know  where  there's  one,  an' 
wid  a  blessin',  I'll  thry  it  meself." 

"  You  ^von't  be  so  foolish,  Corney  ?" 

"  May  I  niver  taste  glory,  if  I  don't  do  it !" 

Of  course,  after  that  solemn,  though  doubtful  obligation, 
Mary  dared  not  endeavor  to  dissuade  him  from  following 
out  his  intention,  notwithstanding  the  most  melancholy 
forebodings  of  kidnapping,  fairy-blighting,  and  all  the  ter- 
rors associated  with  supernatural  agency,  filled  her  imagin- 
ation. 

The  evening  was  now  far  advanced,  and  Corney,  having 
finished  his  pipe,  rose  to  go. 

"  Come,  Molly,"  he  exclaimed,  gaily,  "  kiss  me  before  I 
start,  an'  wish  me  iligant  luck." 

Mary,  with  tearful  eyes,  replied,  "  Dear  Corney,  if  you 
had  all  the  luck  I  wish  you,  you  wouldn't  have' to  go  out 
into  the  cowld  to  hunt  for  it." 

"  Well,  God  bless  you,  darlin',  if  I  don't  come  back  to 
you  Cornalius  O'Carrol,  Esquire." 


174  THE     FAIRY     CIRCLE. 

"  You'll  come  home  my  own  dear,  contented  husband." 
"  We'll  see,"  said  Corney,  and  away  he  went. 
It  was  nothinor  but  reasonable  that  he  should  pay  a  visit 
to  the  "  Cross  Kays  "  before  he  went  on  his  fair}'  hunt,  and 
it  was  nothing  but  natural  upon  his  arrival  there,  to  find 
his  resolution  had  receded  so  far  that  it  took  sundry  pots 
of  beer  to  float  it  up  again.  At  last,  brimful  of  that  un- 
thinking recklessness,  which  the  intoxicated  generally  mis- 
take for  courage,  off  he  started  on  his  expedition,  singing 
remarkably  loud,  in  order  to  persuade  any  lurking  feeling 
of  cowardice  that  might  be  within  him,  that  he  wouldn't 
be  influenced  by  it  a  morsel.  As  he  neared  the  village 
church,  however,  his  voice  unconsciously  subsided  into  utter 
silence  ;  there  was  a  short  cut  through  the  churchyard  to 
the  place  of  his  destination,  but  he  made  a  full  stop  at  the 
little  stile  ;  many  and  many  a  time  had  he  crossed  it  night 
and  morning,  without  a  thought,  and  now  it  seemed  to  call 
up  ghostly  images  ;  the  wind  as  it  moaned  through  the 
trees,  appeared  to  address  itself  particularly  to  him ;  it 
■wasn't  more  than  a  stone's  throw  to  the  other  side,  and  he 
wanted  to  clear  it  with  a  bound.  At  this  moment  the 
rusty  old  clock  suddenly  squeaked  and  boomed  out  upon 
the  startled  air.  The  first  stroke,  so  sharp  and  unexpected, 
shattered  Corney's  nerves  like  a  stroke  of  paralysis ;  recov- 
ering from  his  fright,  he  laughed  at  his  folly,  but  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice  terrified  him  still  more.  It  was  not  fa- 
miliar to  him — he  didn't  know  it!  A  fancy  came  into  his 
head  that  somebody  was  laughing  for  him,  and  he  fairly 
shivered ! 


THE      FAIRY      CIRCLE. 

A  sudden  thought  relieved  him  :  there  was  no  occasion 
to  go  througli  the  churchyard  at  all ! 

"  What  a  fool  I  am,"  thought  he,  "  it  isn't  so  far  round, 
and  there's  plenty  of  time.  Divil  take  me  if  I  wouldn't 
go  liome  agin,  only  Mary  would  think  me  such  a  coward, 
besides,  didn't  Phil  do  it  ?  That's  enough  ;  faint  heart 
never  won  anything  worth  spakin'  of — so  here  goes," 

About  half  an  hour's  walk  brought  him  to  the  meadow 
in  which  lay  the  object  of  his  search — a  fairy-circle.  Now 
this  same  fairy-circle,  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  ring 
of  grass,  which,  from  some  cause  or  another,  probably 
known  to  botanists,  but  certainly  a  mystery  to  most  people, 
is  of  a  difterent  shade  of  color  to  that  which  surrounds  it. 
Tradition  celebrates  such  places  as  the  favorite  resort  of 
fairies,  by  whom  they  were  formed,  that  they  might  pursue 
their  midnight  revelry  without  fear  of  danger  fi-om  inimical 
powers.  The  Irish  peasantry  carefully  avoid  trespassing 
on  those  sacred  precincts,  and  indeed  scarcely  ever  pass 
them  without  making  a  reverential  bow. 

Our  ambitious  friend,  Corney,  hesitated  for  some  timd, 
before  he  entered  the  magic  enclosure,  exceedingly  doubt- 
ful as  to  the  treatment  he  should  receive ;  at  last,  swallow- 
ing his  trepidation  with  a  spasmodic  gulp,  he  placed  one 
foot  within  the  circle,  taking  care  to  propitiate  the  invisi- 
bles on  whose  exclusive  property  he  was  so  unceremoni- 
ously intruding. 

"The  blessin's  on  all  here,"  said  he,  "an'  I  hope  I'm  not 
disturbin'  any  frolic  or  business  that  yez  may  be  indulgin' 
in.     It's  mighty  sleepy  that  I  am,  an'  if  yer  honors  would 


176  THE     FAIETCIKCLE. 

give  me  lave  to  recline  meself  atop  of  the  grass,  an'  make 
it  convanient  not  to  stick  any  rheumaticks  into  me  for  tak- 
in'  such  a  liberty,  I'd  recaive  it  as  a  compliment.  If  it's  a 
thing  that  I  happen  promiscuously  to  thread  on  anybody's 
toes,  I  have  no  manin'  whativer  in  it.  By  your  laves,  I'm 
goin'  to  lie  down,  an'  I'll  drop  aisy,  in  order  that  I  mayn't 
hurt  anything." 

So  saying,  Corney  let  himself  down  very  gingerly,  and 
lay  fall  length  within  the  fairy  circle  ;  he  was  one  of  those 
weather-proof  individuals  to  whom  the  meadow-grass  was 
as  good  as  a  feather-bed.  Consequently  what  with  the 
walk  and  the  beer,  it  wasn't  many  minutes  before  he  was 
snoring  fast. 

He  hadn't  been  asleep,  as  he  thought,  an  instant,  before 
he  felt  an  innumerable  quantity  of  tiny  feet  traversing  him 
all  over ;  with  regular  step  they  marched  up  his  throat, 
and  scaled  his  chin ;  making  two  divisions  up  his  cheeks, 
they  arrived  at  his  eyes,  where  they  commenced  tugging 
at  the  lids  until  they  were  forced  open  ;  the  sight  that  met 
his  view  filled  him  with  dreadful  wonder.  The  circle  of 
meadow,  in  which  he  had  barely  room  to  stretch  himself 
out,  formed  all  he  could  see  of  earth.  Church,  village, 
country,  all  had  vanished  ;  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked 
again,  but  there  was  nothing  ;  with  an  inexpressible  sensa- 
tion of  awe,  he  turned  round,  and  creeping  cautiously  to 
the  edge  of  the  circle,  gazed  downward,  and  could  just  dis- 
cover the  village  he  had  quitted  about  a  mile  below  ;  with 
still  increasing  dread,  he  was  now  aware  that  he  was  grad- 
ually mounting  higher  and  higher.     One  more  look,  vil- 


THE     FAIRY     CIRCLE.  177' 

lages,  cities,  countries,  were  blended  into  an  undistingiiisha- 
ble  mass,  and  soon  the  globular  form  of  the  earth  appeared, 
thoroughly  defined,  swinging  in  the  air. 

He  then  became  sensible  of  a  tremendous  heat,  which 
increased  m  intensity,  until  he  found  to  his  dismay  that  he 
was  rapidly  shrinking  in  size ;  his  flesh  dried  up,  shrivelled, 
cracked,  and  clasped  his  diminishing  bones  tighter,  until 
at  last  he  was  not  bigger  than  a  respectable  fly.  "  This  is 
mighty  quare,"  thought  Corney,  "  there's  a  great  lot  of 
things  like  me  frolicin'  about.  I  feel  as  light  as  a  feather. 
I  wonder  if  I  couldn't  make  one  among  them."  So  say- 
ing, he  bounded  up,  and  to  his  great  amazement  foifnd 
that  he  had  literally  jumped  out  of  his  skin.  He  perched 
upon  his  own  head,  which  had  resumed  its  natural  size 
and  flying  off,  found  himself  floating  securely  in  the  air, 
while  the  carcass  which  he  had  just  deserted  fell,  fairy- 
circle  and  all,  rapidly  towards  the  earth,  and  finally,  also 
disappeared.  Oh  !  the  pranks  that  Corney  played  in  the 
first  delight  of  being  able  to  fly  ;  he  dived  down,  he  ca- 
reered up,  he  threw  mad  summersets  like  a  tumbler-pigeon 
— so  light  and  buoyant  had  he  become,  that  the  passing 
vapors  served  him  for  a  resting-place  ;  he  was  happy,  intox- 
icated with  glee,  thousands  upon  thousands  of  atomies 
gambolled  around  him  like  gnats  in  a  sunbeam,  the  whole 
surrounding  expanse  was  instinct  with  joyous  life. 

And  they  knew  Corney,  and  saluted  him  as  he  passed 
by,  with  a  compliment. 

"  Hallo  !"  said  they,  "  here's  Corney  O'Carrol ;  how  are 
you,  Corney  ?     It's  well  you're  looking  ;"  and  Corney  was 

8* 


178  THE     FAIKY      CIRCLE. 

astonished  at  the  extensive  nature  of  his  atmospheric 
acquaintance. 

"How  do  you  like  a  fairy's  life,  Corney  ?"  said  one  slim, 
midge-waisted  chap. 

"  Iligant,  your  fairyship,  iligant,"  said  Corney. 

"  Then,  I'd  advise  you  to  make  the  most  of  it,  while  it 
lasts.  You'll  soon  have  to  appear  before  our  king,  and  if 
you  don't  give  a  satisfactory  reason  for  seeking  him,  woe 
betide  you." 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  sir,"  said  Corney ;  "  I've  rayzon 
enough  for  comin',  to  satisfy  any  dacint-disposed  fairy." 

"  Doubtful,"  said  the  good-natured  elf,  and  off  he 
flew. 

"  Stupid  sperrit,"  thought  Corney,  and  over  he  tumbled 
in  mad  recklessness,  enjoying  actually,  that  delicious  sensa- 
tion which  sometimes  occurs  to  people  in  dreams — the 
ability  to  skim  through  the  air  with  the  speed  and  safety 
of  a  bird.  What  struck  Corney  most  particularly  was  the 
universal  expression  of  glee  which  prevailed ;  nothing 
could  he  hear  but  a  universal  hum,  which  rose  and  fell  on 
the  ear  with  a  purr-like  undulation,  such  as  one  might 
imagine  would  proceed  from  a  paradise  of  remarkably 
happy  cats. 

While  Corney  was  thus  revelling  in  his  new-found  ele- 
ment, he  was  suddenly  accosted  by  two  very  genteel  fair- 
ies.    "  Mr.  Cornelius  O'Carrol,  we  presume  ?"  said  they. 

"  There's  not  a  doubt  of  it,  gintlemen,"  replied  Corney. 

"  We  have  come  to  have  the  honor  of  conducting  yoa 
into  the  presence  of  our  king,"  they  continued. 


THE     FAIRY      CIRCLE.  179 

"  With  a  heart  and  a  half,"  said  Corney ;  "  where  might 
his  majesty  domesticate  ?" 

"lu  yonder  goold-tinted  cloud,  a  few  seconds' fly  from 
this ;  follow  us." 

Upon  nearing  the  regal  abode,  Corney  observed  sundry 
small  substances,  like  duck-shot,  dropping  downward. 
"  What's  thim  ?"  inquired  he  of  his  conductors. 

"  Oh !"  answered  one,  "  only  a  few  discontented  souls, 
who,  like  you,  have  sought  our  king,  and  haven't  given 
sufficient  reason  for  troubling  him  with  their  complaints." 

Corney  began  to  feel  nervous,  but  coming  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  had  as  good  a  right  to  be  enriched  through 
fairy  agency  as  ever  Phil  Blake  had,  he  put  on  a  bold 
front,  and  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  fairy 
potentate.  There,  a  sight  of  such  dazzling  splendor  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  view,  that,  as  he  said  himself,  "  You 
might  as  well  try  to  count  the  stars  of  a  frosty  night,  or 
look  right  into  the  sun's  heart  of  a  summer's  day,  as  to 
give  the  slightest  notion  of  the  grandeur  that  surrounded 
me."  All  he  could  compare  it  to,  was,  a  multitude  of 
living  jewels  of  every  variety  of  hue,  sparkling  and  flashing 
in  perpetual  light. 

As  soon  as  he  could  collect  his  scattered  senses,  he 
heard  a  voice  exclaim,  "  What,  ho !  soul  of  O'Carrol, 
approach !" 

"So  I'm  thravelin'  without  my  trunk  this  time,  any 
way,"  thought  Corney,  as  he  advanced  toward  the  voice. 

It  continued,  ''  Soul  of  a  mortal,  why  hast  thou  sought 
our  presence  ?" 


180  THE      F  A  I  ii  Y      C  I  K  C  L  E  . 

"  May  it  plaze  yer  majesty,"  Corney  began  to  stammer 
out,  "  bekase  I  was  a  trifle  unaisy  in  me  mind." 

"  What  about  ?" 

*'  In  regard  of  the  scarcity  of  money,  plaze  your  rever- 
ence." 

"  What  is  your  trade  ?" 

"  A  shoemaker,  sir." 

"  Cobbler,  you  mean,"  said  the  voice,  severely.  "  Xo 
lying  here ;  recollect  your  poor,  miserable,  naked  soul 
stands  before  us." 

Corney  thought  of  the  height  he'd  have  to  fall,  and 
ti'embled. 

"  You  can't  get  work,  I  suppose,"  the  voice  returned. 

"  Too  much  of  it,  if  it  plaze  yer  honor.  I  niver  have  a 
minute  to  spare." 

"  For  what  ?" 

"  Why,  yer  honor,  to to " 

"Remember  the  punishment  of  prevarication.  To 
what  ?" 

"  To  take  a  drink." 

"  Then  you  have  no  home  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  I  have,  sir." 

"  But  'tis  pleasanter  to  lounge  in  a  tap-room  ?" 

"A  trifle,  may-be,  your  honor." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  no  wife  to  make  your  home  com- 
fortable?" 

"  Have't  I  though ;  the  best  that  ever  drew  the  breath 
of  life,"  cried  Corney,  with  a  loving  remembrance  of  Mary. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  continued  the  voice ;  "  your  situation  is 


THE      F  A  1  K  Y      C  I  IC  C  L  E  .  181 

deplorable,  it  appears.  You  have  a  good  trade,  an  excel- 
lent wife,  a  comfortable  home,  and  yet  you  are  discon- 
tented." 

Corney  felt  himself  resolving  into  a  leaden  pellet. 

"  One  question  more,"  said  the  voice  ;  "  when  did  you 
first  feel  dissatisfied  ?" 

"  Why,  to  tell  the  truth,  yer  honor,  as  soon  as  that 
fellow,  Phil  Blake,  began  to  build  his  big  brick  house 
opposite  to  my  little  mud  cabin.  Before  that,  I  was  as  gay 
as  a  lark,  but  it  stood  like  a  great  cloud  between  me  and 
the  sun." 

"  Envy  was  the  cloud,  envy,  that  gloomiest  of  all  earthly 
passions.     Why  do  you  covet  this  man's  fortune  ?" 

"  Because,  sir,  he  always  looks  so  srailin',  and  jinks  his 
money  about,  an'  dispises  the  poor  boys  he  used  to  be 
friendly  with." 

"  Foolish,  foolish  soul !"  said  the  voice,  in  accents  of 
commiseration,  "  but  not  yet  wholly  tainted.  Thy  love  of 
home  hath  partially  redeemed  thee.  Listen  to  me.  Dost 
thou  see  yonder  piled  up  mass  of  rainbow-tinted  clouds. 
Do  they  not  look  gloriously,  as  the  rising  sun  flings  his 
beams  through  them,  as  though  revelling  in  their  embrace  ? 
Wouldst  thou  not  like  to  behold  such  magnificence 
closer  ?" 

"Nothing  in  life  betther,  yer  majesty,"  said  Corney. 

"  Then  away  ;  a  wish  will  place  you  in  their  midst — a 
thought  return  you  here." 

So  with  the  wish  and  thought  Corney  went  and  came 
back. 


182  THE     FAIKY     CIRCLE. 

"  Well,  what  didst  thou  see  ?"  inquired  the  Fairy  King. 

"  The  divil  a  haperth,"  replied  Corney,  "  but  a  mighty 
black  and  most  unwholesomely  damp  cloud." 

"  What  should  that  teach  you  ?" 

"  Never  to  thravel  without  an  umbrella,  yer  honor,  I 
suppose,"  answered  Corney,  who  to  say  the  truth,  was  a 
little  obtuse. 

"Fool,"  said  the  fairy,  "  since  I  cannot  lesson  thee,  go  to 
thy  kindred  earth,  and  learn  experience  from  realities. 
Proceed  to  the  chamber  of  the  man  whose  good  fortune 
thou  enviest ;  then  to  thine  own,  and  if  thou  art  not  satis- 
fied with  thy  condition,  seek  me  again,  and  meet  with  thy 
reward.     Away !" 

As  if  by  magic,  the  brilliant  assembly  dispersed  like 
clouds  of  gold-dust  floating  on  the  wind,  and  Corney  was 
left  alone. 

"  That's  a  mighty  high  sort  o'  chap,"  said  Coniey,  "  but 
I  suppose  I'd  betther  do  what  he  tow  Id  me  for  fear'xi  he'd 
turn  spiteful." 

So  Corney  wished  himself  within  the  chamber  of  Blake, 
and  there  he  saw  the  most  piteous  sight  earth  can  pro- 
duce :  a  young  mother  weeping  tears  of  agony  over  the 
body  of  her  first-born.  A  man  stood  beside  her  with  fea- 
tures set  and  hard,  as  though  turned  to  stone  by  hopeless 
grief 

"  My  God,"  thought  Corney,  "  and  these  are  the  people 
whose  lot  I  have  envied,  and  my  own  blue-eyed  darling, 
is  he  safe  ?  Home,  home,"  cried  he,  and  with  the  wish 
was   there.     In   his   little    cradle   lay   the   beautiful   boy 


THE      F  0  R  T  r  N  K  -  T  E  L  L  K  li  .  1  83 

steeped  in  the  angel-watched,  the  holy  sleep  of  infant  inno- 
cence, while  Mary,  on  her  knees,  mingled  her  prayer  for 
her  absent  husband.  Corney  was  rusliing  towards  her,  but 
suddenly  remembering  himself :  "  What  a  fool  I  am," 
thought  he,  "  I  forgot  I  was  a  sperrit,  at  all  events,  I  can 
kiss  the  babby."  With  that,  lie  bounded  into  the  cradle, 
and  nestled  on  the  boy's  lip.  Mary,  seeing  the  child  smile 
in  his  sleep,  exclaimed  :  "  Good  angels  are  putting  sweet 
thoughts  into  your  head,  my  blessed  babe,"  and  she  softly 
kissed  him  too. 

"  Oh  !  murdher,"  thought  Corney,  "  this  will  never  do  ; 
I  must  go  and  look  afther  my  body  and  bring  it  home. 
Thanks  to  the  good  fairies,  I've  lamed  a  lesson  that  shall 
last  my  life  and  my  boy's,  too,  if  I  have  any  influence 
over  him." 

So  saying,  Corney  wished  himself  in  the  meadow  where 
his  tangible  proportions  were  extended,  and  having  kicked 
and  got  in,  shook  himself  carefully  to  see  if  he  had  obtained 
absolute  possession. 

"  It^s  all  right,"  said  he,  "  I've  come  back."  Looking  up 
and  around  him,  he  was  surprised  to  see  the  bright  sun- 
light of  morning,  and  still  more  so  to  observe  Mary  trudg- 
ing through  the  churchyard  to  meet  him. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Mary,  anxiously,  when  they  encoun- 
tered, "  what  luck  ?" 

"  A  power  of  knowledge,  but  no  money,"  said  Corney, 
sententiously. 

"  Did  you  see  the  fairies  ?" 

"  Did  I  see  them !  bedad,  I  was  one  myself." 


184  THE     FOETUNE-TELLEE. 

"Oh!  beaisy!" 

"  The  divil  a  doubt  of  it ;  wasn't  I  at  borne  a  bit  ago, 
unbeknownt  to  you  ?  Answer  me  this,  didn't  you  kiss  the 
babby  just  before  you  came  out?" 

"  As  thrue  as  life,  I  did,"  said  Mary,  slightly  awe-struck. 

"  I  was  there  and  saw  you  do  it." 

"  Where  were  you,  Corney  ?" 

"  Sittin'  on  the  end  of  his  nose." 

Of  course  that  was  proof  positive,  but  inasmuch  as  Mary 
always  did  kiss  the  boy  before  she  left  the  house,  the  coin- 
cidence becomes  less  remarkable. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  say,  that  the  circumstance 
made  a  very  favorable  change  in  Corney's  disposition,  or 
rather  dissipated  the  cloud  which  obscured  his  real  charac- 
ter. Mary  found  her  account  in  it,  by  an  increase  of 
industry  on  his  part,  and  he  was  rewarded  by  a  correspond- 
ing anxiety  in  her,  to  make  ^s  home  happy.  Many  and 
many  a  time  would  he  give  an  account  of  his  aerial  jour- 
ney, religiously  convinced  of  its  reality ;  once  only  Mary 
just  ventured  to  insinuate  that  it  might  possibly  have  been 
a  dream,  but  the  I-pity-your-ignorance-looJc  which  Corney 
gave  her,  made  her  heartily  ashamed  of  having  hazarded 
so  stupid  an  opinion,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  she  soon 
believed  as  implicitly  as  her  husband,  the  wonderful  adven- 
ture of  The  Fairy  Circle, 


LUCK.  185 


O'BRYAN'S     LUCK 

A  TALE  OF  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER   I. 


THE    MERCHANT-PRINCE. 


In  the  private  office  of  a  first-class  store  sat  two  indi- 
viduals, each  thoroughly  absorbed  iu  his  present  employ- 
ment, but  with  very  different  feelings  for  the  work.  One 
— it  was  the  head  of  the  establishment,  the  great  Mr. 
Granite,  the  millionaire  merchant — was  simply  amusing 
himself,  as  was  his  usual  custom  at  least  once  a  day,  figuring 
up,  by  rough  calculation,  the  probable  amount  of  his 
worldly  possessions,  they  having  arrived  at  that  point  when 
the  fructifying  power  of  wealth  made  hourly  addition  to 
the  grand  total ;  while  the  other,  his  old  and  confidential 
clerk.  Sterling,  bent  assiduously  over  a  great  ledger,  me- 
chanically adding  up  its  long  columns,  which  constant  use 
had  enabled  him  to  do  without  the  possibility  of  mistake. 
With  a  profound  sigh  of  relief,  he  laid  down  his  pen,  and 
rubbing  his  cramped  fingers,  quietly  remarked : 

"  Accounts  made  up,  sir." 


186 


"  Ah,  very  good,  Sterling,"  replied  the  stately  principal, 
with  a  smile,  for  his  arithmetical  amusement  was  very  satis 
factory,  "  how  do  we  stand  ?" 

"Balance  in  our  favor,  two  hundred  and  fifty-seven 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  forty-seven  dollars,  and  twenty- 
three  cents,"  slowly  responded  the  old  clerk,  reading  from 
his  abstract. 

"  You're  certain  that  is  correct,  Mr.  Sterling  ?"  inquired 
the  merchant-prince,  in  a  clear,  loud  voice,  which  indicated 
that  the  old,  time-worn  machine  was  wearing  out.  He  was 
so  deaf  that  it  was  only  by  using  his  hand  as  a  conductor 
of  the  sound,  that  he  could  hear  sufficiently  to  carry  on  a 
conversation. 

"  Correct  to  a  cypher,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  been  up 
and  down  the  columns  a  dozen  times." 

"  Good." 

"  Did  you  speak,  sir  ?" 

"No." 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  old  ears,"  the  old  clerk  whispered,  half 
aside.  "  Five  and  forty  years  in  this  quiet  office  has  put 
them  to  sleep.  They'll  never  wake  up  again,  never, 
never." 

"  You  have  been  a  careful  and  useful  assistant  and  friend, 
Sterling,"  said  the  merchant,  in  a  kindly  tone,  touching  him 
on  the  shoulder  with  unaccustomed  familiarity,  "and  I 
thank  you  for  the  great  good  your  services,  have  done  the 
house." 

"  Bless  you,  sir,  bless  you — you  are  too  good.  I  don't 
leserve  it,"  replied  SterHng,  unable  to  restrain  the  tears 


187 


which  tliis  unusual  display  of  good  feeling,  had  forced  up 
from  the  poor  old  man's  heart. 

"  I  shall  have  no  further  need  of  you  to-day,  Sterling,  if 
you  have  any  business  of  your  own  to  transact." 

"  I  have,  I  have,  my  good,  kind  friend,  and  thank  you 
for  granting  me  the  opportunity,"  said  Sterling,  descending 
with  difficulty  from  his  place  of  torture. — Why  will  they 
not  abolish  those  inflexible  horrors,  those  relics  of  barbar- 
ism, those  inquisitorial  chattels — oflBce-stools ?  "I'll  go 
now,  and  mingle  my  happiness  with  the  sweet  breath  of 
Heaven — and  yet,  if  I  dared  to  say  what  I  want — I  " — 

"  Well,  speak  out,  old  friend."  The  merchant  went  on, 
with  an  encouraging  look :  "  If  your  salary  be  insuffi- 
cient " — 

"  Oh  !  no,  no  !"  interposed  the  other,  suddenly,  "  I  am 
profusely  paid — too  much,  indeed — but" —  and  he  cast 
down  his  eyes  hesitatingly. 

"  This  reserve  with  me  is  foolish,  Sterling.  What  have 
you  to  say  ?" 

"  Nothing  much,  sir ;  indeed,  I  hardly  know  how  to 
bring  it  out,  knowing,  as  I  well  do,  your  strange  antipa- 
thy " —  Granite  turned  abruptly  away.  He  now  knew 
what  was  coming,  and  it  was  with  a  dark  frown  upon  his 
brow  he  paced  the  office,  as  Sterling  continued  : 

"  I  saw  him  to-day." 

"  Travers  V 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  "  Travers.  But  don't  speak  his 
name  as  though  it  stung  you.  I  was  his  father's  clerk  be- 
fore I  was  yours." 


188 


"  You  know  what  I  have  already  done  for  him,"  moodily 
rejoined  the  merchant. 

"  Yes,  yes — I  know  it  was  kind,  very  kind  of  you — you 
helped  him  once  ;  but  he  was  unsuccessful.  He  is  young 
— pray,  pray,  spare  him  some  assistance.  You  won't  miss 
it — indeed  you  won't,"  pleaded  the  clerk. 

"  Sterling,  you  are  a  fool,"  Granite  replied,  sternly, 
"  Every  dollar  lent  or  lost  is  a  backward  step  that  must  be 
crawled  up  to  again  by  inches.  But  I  am  inclined  to  lib- 
erality to-day.  What  amount  do  you  think  will  satisfy 
this  spendthrift  ?" 

"  Well,  since  your  kindness  emboldens  me  to  speak — it's 
no  use  patching  up  a  worn  coat,  so  even  let  him  have  a 
new  one — give  him  anotBer  chance — a  few  hundred  dollars, 
more  or  less,  can't  injure  you,  and  may  be  his  salvation. 
About  five  thousand  dollars  will  suffice." 

"  Five  thousand  dollars  !  are  you  mad.  Sterling  ?"  cried 
the  merchant,  starting  to  his  feet  in  a  paroxysm  of  anger. 

"  Y^'our  son  will  have  his  half  a  million  to  begin  with," 
quietly  suggested  Sterling. 

"  He  will,  he  will !"  cried  the  other,  with  a  strange, 
proud  light  in  his  eye,  for  upon  that  son  all  his  earthly 
hopes,  and  haply  those  beyond  the  earth,  were  centered. 
"  Wealth  is  power,  and  he  will  have  sufficient ;  he  can  lift 
his  head  amongst  the  best  and  proudest ;  he  can  wag  his 
tongue  amongst  the  highest  in  the  land — eh,  my  old 
friend  ?" 

"That  can  he,  indeed,  sir,  and  be  ashamed  of  neither 
head  nor  tongue,  for  he's  a  noble  youth,"  replied  the  clerk. 


LUCK.  189 

"  Here,  tate  this  check,  Sterling.  Fll  do  as  you  wish 
this  time;  but  mind  it  is  the  last.  I  have  no  right  to  in- 
jure, even  in  the  remotest  degree,  my  son's  interests,  of 
which  I  am  simply  the  guardian.  You  can  give  it  to — to 
— him,  and  with  this  positive  assurance." 

"Bless  you — this  is  like  you — this  is  noble,  princely," 
murmured  the  old  clerk,  through  his  tears,  which  now  were 
flowing  unrestrainedly  ;  "  when  I  tell  " — 

"  Hold !  repeat  his  name  again,  and  I  recall  the  loan. 
I  repent  already  of  hanng  been  entrapped  into  this  act  of 
folly." 

"You  wrong  your  own  liberal  nature,"  said  Sterling, 
mildly.  "  You  are  goodness  itself,  and  fear  not  but  you 
will  receive  your  reward  four-fold  for  all  you  have  done 
for"— 

"  Away,  you  prating  fool,"  cried  Granite,  in  a  tone  that 
hurried  the  old  clerk  out  of  the  ojQBce,  full  of  gratitude  for 
the  service  done,  and  of  unaffected  joy,  that  Providence 
had  selected  him  to  be  the  bearer  of  such  happy  intelli- 
gence to  the  son  of  his  old  employer. 

Meantime,  the  merchant-prince  flung  himself  into  his 
comfortable  easy-chair,  a  spasm  of  agony  passing  across 
his  harsh  features.  "  Oh  !  Travers,  Travers  !"  he  inly  ejac- 
ulated, "  must  that  black  thought  ever  thrust  itself  like  a 
grim  shadow  across  the  golden  sun-ray  of  my  prosperity  ?" 


190 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE     MAN     OF     LABOR. 

The  accommodating  reader  will  now  be  kind  enough  to 
accompany  me  to  a  far  different  place  from  that  in  which 
the  foregoing  dialogue  was  held.  With  an  effort  of  the 
will — rapid  as  a  spiritual  manifestation — we  are  there. 
You  see,  it  is  an  exceedingly  small  habitation,  built  entirely 
of  wood,  and,  excepting  that  beautiful  geranium-plant  on 
one  window,  and  a  fine,  sleek,  contented-looking  puss 
winking  lazily  on  the  other — both,  let  me  tell  you,  con- 
vincing evidence  that  the  household  deities  are  worshipped 
on  the  hearth  within — for  wheresoever  you  see  flowers 
cultivated  outside  of  an  humble  house,  look  for  cleanliness, 
and  domestic  comfort  on  the  inside — excepting  those  two 
things,  but  little  of  ornament  is  visible.  Kind  people 
dwell  within,  you  may  know ;  for,  see,  the  placid  puss 
don't  condescend  to  change  her  position  as  we  near  her ; 
her  experience  hasn't  taught  her  to  dread  an  enemy  in  our 
species. 

"  Lift  the  latch ;  'tis  but  a  primitive  fastening — nay ! 
don't  hesitate ;    you  know  we  are  invisible.     There  !   you 
are  now  in  the  principal  apartment.     See  how  neat  and 
tidy  everything  is.     The  floor,  to  be  sure,  is  uncarpetec 
but  then  it  is  sedulously  clean.     Look  at  those  white  wii 


LUCK.  l;>i 

dow-curtains ;  at  that  well-patched  table-cloth,  with  every 
fold  as  crisp  as  though  it  had  been  just  pressed;  the 
dresser  over  there,  each  article  upon  it  bright  as  industry 
and  the  genius  of  happy  home  can  make  it. —  What  an 
appetizing  odor  steams  in  from  yonder  kitchen  !  and  listen 
to  those  dear  little  birds,  one  in  each  window,  carrying  on 
a  quiet,  demure  conversation,  in  their  own  sweet  way! 
Do  they  not  say,  and  does  not  every  quiet  nook  echo  : 
-  "Though  poor  and  lowly,  there  is  all  of  Heaven  that 
Heaven  vouchsafes  to  man,  beneath  this  humble  roof;  for 
it  is  the  sphere  of  her  who  is  God's  choicest  blessing — 
that  world  angel — a  good,  pure-hearted,  loving  wife. 

But  hark!  who  is  that  singing?  You  can  hear  him, 
although  he  is  yet  a  street  off;  and  so  can  she  who  is 
busy  within  there,  you  can  tell  by  that  little  scream  of  joy. 

That  is  Tom  Bobalink,  the  honest  truckman,  and  the 
owner  of  this  little  nest  of  contentment. 

But,  if  you  please,  I  will  resume  my  narrative  my  own 
way,  for  you  are  a  very  uncommunicative  companion, 
friend  reader,  and  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  discover 
whether  you  like  the  scene  we  have  been  looking  at,  or 
do  not. 

In  a  few  moments,  Tom  rushed  into  the  little  room,  his 
face  all  a-glow  with  healthy  exercise,  and  a  joyous  song  at 
his  lips. 

"  Hello !  pet,  where  are  you  ?"  he  cried,  putting  down 
his  hat  and  whip. 

"  Here  am  I,  Tom  !"  answered  as  cheerful  a  voice  as 
ever  bubbled  up  from  a  heart,  full  of  innocence  and  love. 


192  o'bkyan's    luck. 

"  Din  in  a  sec,"  meaning  dinner  in  a  second ;  for 
"Tom  and  Pol,"  in  their  confidential  chats,  abbreviated 
long  words  occasionally ;  and  I  give  this  explanation  as  a 
sort  of  guide  to  their  pet  peculiarity. 

"Hurry  up,  Polly!"  cried  Tom,  with  a  good-humored 
laugh,  "  for  I'm  jolly  hungry,  I  tell  you.  Good  gracious ! 
I've  heard  of  people's  taking  all  sorts  of  thing  to  get  up  an 
appetite;  if  they'd  only  have  the  sense  to  take  nothing^ 
and  keep  on  at  it,  it's  wonderful  what  an  effect  it  would 
have  on  a  lazy  digestion." 

Polly  now  entered  with  two  or  three  smoking  dishes, 
which  it  did  not  take  long  to  place  in  order.  Now,  I 
should  dearly  like  to  give  you  a  description  of  my  heroine 
— aye  !  heroine — for  it  is  in  her  station  that  such  are  to 
be  found — noble  spirits,  who  battle  with  privation  and 
untoward  fate — smoothing  the  rugged  pathway  of  life,  and 
infusing  fresh  energy  into  the  world-exhausted  heart.  Oh ! 
what  a  crown  of  glory  do  they  deserve,  who  wear  a  smile 
of  content  upon  their  lips,  while  the  iron  hand  of  adversity 
is  pressing  on  their  hearts,  concealing  a  life  of  martyrdom 
beneath  the  heroism  of  courageous  love. 

I  say  I  should  like  to  give  you  some  slight  description 
of  Polly's  external  appearance,  but  that  I  choose  rather  that 
my  readers  should  take  their  own  individual  ideas  of  per- 
fect loveliness,  and  clothe  her  therein  ;  for,  inasmuch  as 
she  is  the  type  of  universal  excellence,  in  mind  and  charac- 
ter, I  wish  her  to  be  so  in  form  and  beauty. 

"  What  have  you  got  for  me,  Polly  ?"  says  Tom. 

"  It  ain't  much,"  she  replied ;  "  cos  you  know  we  can't 


S     LUCK.  193 

afford  Itix^es  ;  but  it's  such  a  sweet  little  neck  of  mut^  and 
lots  of  wedges.^^ 

"  Gollopshus !"  says  Tom ;  "  out  with  it !  I'm  as  hungry 
as  an  unsuccessful  office-seeker." 

"  Office-seekers !  what  are  they,  Tom  ?" 

"Why,  Polly,  they  are — faith,  I  don't  know  what  to 
compare  them  to  ;  you've  heard  of  those  downy  birds,  that 
when  some  other  has  got  hisself  a  comfortable  nest,  never 
rests  until  he  pops  into  it.  But  them's  politics,  Polly,  and 
ain't  proj)  for  worn  to  meddle  with." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,  Tom,  dear ;  there's  enough  to 
occupy  a  woman's  time  and  attention  inside  of  her  house, 
without  bothering  her  heart  with  what's  going  on  outside." 

"  Bless  your  homey  little  heart !"  cried  Tom,  heartily. 
"  Oh  !  Polly,  darling,  if  there  were  a  few  more  good  wives, 
there  would  be  a  great  many  less  bad  husbands.  This  is 
glorious !  If  we  could  only  be  sure  that  we  had  as  good  a 
dinner  as  this  all  our  lives,  Pol,  how  happy  I  should  be ; 
but  I  often  think,  ray  girl,  that  if  any  accident  should 
befall  me,  what  would  become  of  you." 

"  Now,  don't  talk  that  way,  Thomas ;  nor  don't  repine 
at  your  condition  ;  it  might  be  much  worse." 

"  I  can't  help  it.  I  try  not ;  but  it's  impossible,  when  I 
see  people  dressed  up  and  tittevated  out,  as  I  go  jogging 
along  with  my  poor  old  horse  and  truck — I  envy  them  in 
my  heart,  Pol — I  know  it's  wrong ;  but  it's  there,  and  it 
would  be  worse  to  deny  it." 

"  Could  any  of  those  fine  folks  enjoy  their  dinner  better 
than  you  did,  Tom  ?"  said  Polly,  with  a  cheering  smile. 

9 


194: 


"  No,  my  girl !"  shouted  be,  and  the  joy  spread  over  his 
face  again — "not  if  they  had  forty  courses.  But  eating 
isn't  all,  Pol,"  he  continued,  growing  suddenly  serious  once 
more.  "  This  livmg  from  hand  to  mouth — earning  with 
hard  labor  every  crust  we  put  into  it — never  seeing  the 
blessed  face  of  a  dollar,  that  isn't  wanted  a  hundred  ways 
by  our  necessities — is  rather  hard." 

"  Ah !  Tom,  and  thankful  ought  we  to  be  that  we  have 
health  to  earn  that  dollar.  Think  of  the  thousands  of 
poor  souls  that  are  worse  off  than  ourselves !  Never  look 
above  your  own  station  with  envy,  Thomas ;  but  below  it 
with  gratitude." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  there  appeared  at  the  open 
door,  a  poor,  wretched-looking  indiAndual,  evidently  an 
Irishman,  and,  from  the  singularity  of  his  dress,  only  just 
arrived.  He  said  not  a  word,  but  upon  his  pale  cheek  was 
visibly  printed  a  very  volume  of  misery. 

"  Hello !  friend,  what  the  devil  do  you  want  ?"  asked 
Tom. 

"  Don't  speak  so,  Thomas.  He's  sick  and  in  distress," 
said  Polly,  laying  her  finger  on  his  mouth.  "  There  !  sup- 
pose you  were  like  that  ?" 

"What?  a  Paddy!"  replied  the  other,  with  a  jolly 
laugh  ;  "  don't  mention  it !"  then  calling  to  the  poor  stranger, 
who  was  resignedly  walking  away  ;  "  Come  on  Irish  !"  he 
cried.     "  Do  you  want  anything  ?" 

"  Av  you  plaze,  sir,"  answered  the  Irishman,  "  I'd  like  to 
rest  meself." 

''  Sit  down,  poor  fellow !"  said  Polly,  dusting  a  chair, 
and  handingr-it  towards  him. 


LUCK.  195 

"I  don't  mane  that,  ma'm  ;  a  loan  o'  tlio  ^^all,  an'  an  air 
o'  the  fire  'II  do.  The  blessin's  on  ye  for  lettin'  nie  have 
it !"  so  saying,  he  placed  himself  near  the  cheerful  fire- 
place, and  warmed  his  chilled  frame. 

"  A  big  lump  of  a  fellow  like  you,  wouldn't  it  be  better 
for  you  to  be  at  ^vo^k  than  lounorino:  about  in  idleness  ?" 
said  Tom. 

"  Indeed,  an'  its  thnie  for  ye,  sir,  it  would  so  ;  but  where 
is  a  poor  boy  to  find  it  ?" 

"  Oh  !  anywhere — everywhere.'* 

"  Bedad,  sir,  them's  exactly  the  places  I've  been  lookin' 
for  it,  for  the  last  three  weeks ;  but  there  was  nobody  at 
home.  I  hunted  the  work  while  I  had  the  stringth  to 
crawl  afther  it,  an'  now,  av  it  was  to  come,  I'm  afear'd 
that  I  haven't  the  stringth  to  lay  howld  ov  it." 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?"  inquired  Polly. 

"I'm  a  trifle  that  way  inclined,  ma'm,"  he  replied,  with 
a  semi-comic  expression. 

"Poor  fellow,  here,  sit  down  and  eat,"  said  Polly, 
hurriedly  diving  into  the  savory  stew,  and  forking  up  a 
fine  chop,  which  she  handed  to  the  hungry  stranger. 

"  I'd  relish  it  betther  standin',  if  you  plaze,  ma'm,"  said 
he,  pulling  out  a  jack-knife  and  attacking  the  viands  ^tith 
vigorous  appetite,  exclaiming,  "  May  the  Heavens  bless  you 
for  this  good  act ;  sure  it's  the  poor  man  that's  the  poor 
man's  friend,  afther  all.  You've  saved  mo,  sowl-and  body 
this  blesseo  day.  I  haven't  begged  yet,  but  it  was  comin' 
on  me  strong.  I  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  quality  folks, 
but  they  carried  their  noses  so  high  they  couldn't  see  the 


196 


starvation  that  was  in  my  face,  and  I  wouldn't  ax  the  poor 
people  for  fear  they  were  worse  off  than  meself." 

"Ain't  you  sorry,  Thomas,  for  what  you  said  just  now?" 
inquired  Polly  of  her  husband. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  striking  his  fist  on  the  table.  "  Fm 
more  discontented  than  ever,  to  think  that  a  few  hundred 
scoundrel  schemers,  or  fortunate  fools,  should  monopolize 
the  rights  of  millions ;  isn't  it  devilish  hard  that  I  can't 
put  my  hand  in  my  pocket  and  make  this  poor  fellow's 
heart  jump  for  joy." 

"  Point  out  to  him  where  he  can  get  some  employment, 
Thomas,  and  his  heart  will  be  continually  jumping,"  replied 
Polly. 

By  this  time  the  poor  stranger  had  finished  his  extem- 
pore meal,  and  shut  up  his  pocket-knife,  which  he  first 
carefully  wiped  on  the  tail  of  his  coat.  "  May  God  bless 
you  for  this,"  said  he.  "  I'm  stronger  now.  "  I'll  go  an' 
hunt  for  a  job  ;  may-be  luck  won't  be  a  stepfather  to  me 
all  my  days." 

"  Stop,"  cried  Tom,  "  suppose  I  were  to  give  you  some- 
thing to  do,  what  would  you  say  ?" 

"  Faix,  I  wouldn't  say  much,  sir,"  said  the  Irishman, 
"but  I'd  do  it." 

"  Come  along  with  me,  then,  and  if  I  get  any  job,  I'll 
get  you  to  help  me." 

"Oh,  then,  may  long  life  attend  you  for  puttin'  fresh 
blood  in  my  veins,"  responded  the  excited  Milesian,  giving 
his  already  curiously  bad  hat  a  deliberate  punch  in  the 
crown,  to  show  his  gratitude  and  delight. 


.0  Bryan's    luok.  197 

"  Bless  bis  noble,  honest,  loving  heart,"  cried  Polly,  as 
Tom,  having  impressed  his  usual  kiss  upon  her  lips,  started 
to  his  labor  again.  "  If  it  were  not  for  those  little  fits  of 
discontent  every  now  and  then,  what  a  man  he'd  be;  but 
we  can't  be  all  perfect;  don't  I  catch  myself  thinking  silks 
and  satins  sometimes,  instead  of  cottons  and  calicoes  ?  and 
I'll  be  bound,  if  the  truth  was  known,  the  great  folks  that 
wear  nothing  else  but  grand  things,  don't  behave  a  bit 
better,  but  keep  longing  for  something  a  little  grander  still, 
so  he  mustn't  be  blamed,  nor  he  shan't,  neither,  in  my 
hearing." 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE     BOARDING-HOUSE. 

Turn  we  now  to  the  highly-genteel  establishment  whoio 
Henry  Travers  and  his  young  wife  are  now  domiciliated, 
presided  over  by  a  little  more  than  middle-aged,  severe- 
looking  personage,  who  rejoiced  in  the  euphonious  name 
of  Grimgriskin  ;  her  temper,  phraseology,  and  general  dis- 
position may  be  better  illustrated  by  the  conversation  which 
is  now  going  on  between  her  and  her  two  unfortunate  in- 
mates. The  mid-day  accumulation  of  scraps,  which  was 
dignified  by  the  name  of  dinner,  but  just  over,  Henry  Tra- 
vers, in  his  small,  uncomfortable  bed-room,  was  ruminating 
upon  the  darkness  of  his  present  destiny,  when  a  sharp 


198 


knock  at  his  door  admonished  him  that  he  was  about  to 
receive  his  usual  dunning  visit  from  his  amiable  landlady. 

"  Come  in,"  he  gasped,  with  the  articulation  of  a  person 
about  to  undergo  a  mild  species  of  torture. 

"  You'll  excuse  me,  good  people,"  said  Grimgriskin,  "  for 
the  intrusion ;  but  business  is  business,  and  if  one  don't 
attend  to  one's  business,  it's  highly  probable  one's  business 
will  make  unto  itself  wings,  and,  in  a  manner  of  speaking, 
fly  away  :  not  that  I  want  to  make  you  feel  uncomfortable. 
I  flatter  myself,  in  this  establishment,  nobody  need  be 
under  such  a  disagreeable  apprehension  ;  but  houses  won't 
keep  themselves,  at  least  /  never  knew  any  so  to  do. 
Lodgings  is  lodgings,  and  board  is  board  ;  moreover,  mar- 
kets— specially  at  this  season  of  the  year — may  reasonably 
be  said  to  be  markets  ;  beef  and  mutton  don't  jump  spon- 
taneously into  one's  hands ;  promiscuous-like,  neither  do 
the  hydrants  run  tea  and  cofi'ee — at  least  as  far  as  my 
knowledge  of  hydrants  goes." 

"  The  plain  sense  of  all  this  is  " — 

"  Exactly  what  I  am  coming  to,"  interrupted  the  voluble 
hostess.  "  I'm  a  woman  of  few  words  ;  but  those  few,  such 
as  they  are,  I'm  proud  to  say,  are  generally  to  the  purpose. 
I  make  it  a  point  to  send  in  my  bills  regularly  every  month, 
and  I  presume  that  it's  not  an  unreasonable  stretch  of  ima- 
gination to  expect  them  to  be  paid.  Now,  for  the  last 
three  months  they  have  come  up  to  you  receipted,  and 
down  to  me  with  what  one  might  call  the  autographical 
corner  torn  off*.  Now,  as  it  is  not  in  my  nature  to  make 
any  one  feel  uncomfortable,  and  being  a  woman  of  very  few 


199 


words,  I  would  merely  intimate  to  you  that  rents  is  rents — 
and,  moreover,  must  be  paid — and  mine,  I  am  sorry  to  ob- 
serve, is  not  a  singular  exception  in  such  respect." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Grim  "— 

"One  moment!"  interposed  the  woman  of  few  words. 
"  Perhaps  you  may  not  be  aware  of  the  circumstance,  but 
r  have  my  eyes  open — and,  moreover,  my  ears — whispers 
is  whispers,  and  I  have  heard  something  that  rnight  make 
you  uncomfortable ;  but  as  that  is  not  my  principle,  I  won't 
repeat  it;  but  talkers,  you  know,  will  be  talkers,  and 
boarders  can  never  be  anything  else  in  the  world  but 
boarders." 

"  What  have  they  dared  to  say  of  us  V  inquired  Henry. 

"  Nothing — oh !  nothing  to  be  repeated — dear,  no  !  I'm 
proud  to  observe  that  my  boarders  pay  regularly  every 
month,  and  are  therefore  highly  respectable ;  and  respecta- 
ble boarders  make  a  respectable  house,  and  I  wouldn't  keep 
anything  else.  Thank  Heaven,  I  have  that  much  consid- 
eration for  my  own  respectability  !" 

"  May  I  be  permitted  to  ask  what  all  this  amounts  to  ?" 
asked  Henry,  with  commendable  resignation. 

"  Just  two  hundred  dollars,"  sharply  replied  Mrs.  Grim- 
griskin ;  "  being  eighty  for  board,  and  one  hundred  and 
twenty  for  extras.     I'm  a  woman  of  few  words" — 

"  And  I'm  a  man  of  less,"  said  Henry,  "  I  can't  pay  it." 

"  I  had  my  misgivings,"  cried  the  landlady,  tartly,  "  not- 
withstanding your  boast  of  being  connected  with  the  rich 
Mr.  Granite.  Allow  me  to  say,  sir,"  she  continued,  seating 
herself  upon  a  chair,  "  I've  just  sent  for  a  hackman  to  take 


200  o^bryan's    luck. 

your  trunks  away,  and  I  mean  to  retain  the  furniture  until 
some  arrangement  is  made." 

"  May  I  come  in  ?"  murmured  a  small,  but  apparently 
well-known  voice  at  tlie  door,  from  the  alacrity  with  which 
Henry's  poor,  young  wife  rushed  to  open  it,  admitting  old 
Sterling,  the  clerk. 

"  Let  me  look  in  your  eyes,"  cried  she  ;  "  is  there  any 
hope  ?" 

Sterling  shook  his  head. 
"  No — no  more  !" 

"  Heaven  help  us !"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  tottered  back 
to  her  seat. 

"  Heaven  has  helped  you,  my  bright  bird,"  said  Sterling. 
"I  only  shook  my  head  to  make  your  joy  the  greater." 

"  What  say  you  ?"  exclaimed  Travers  ;  "  has  that  stony 
heart  relented  ?" 

"  It  is  not  a  stony  heart,"  replied  Sterling ;  "  I  am 
ashamed  of  you  for  saying  so.  It's  a  good,  generous  heart. 
It  has  made  mine  glow  with  long-forgotten  joy  this  day." 
"Does  he  give  us  relief?"  inquired  Henry. 
"  He  does,"  said  the  old  man,  the  enthusiasm  of  gener- 
ous happiness  lighting  up  his  features ;  "  great,  enduring 
relief.     What  do  you  think  of  five  thousand  dollars  ?" 

"  You  dream,  I  dream  !"  cried  Travers,  starting  up  in 
astonishment ;  while  Mrs.  Grimgriskin,  smoothing  her  una- 
miable  wrinkles,  and  her  apron  at  the  same  time,  at  the 
mention  of  so  respectable  a  sum,  came  forward,  saying,  in 
her  newest-lodger  voice — 

"  You'll  excuse  me ;  but  I'm  a  woman  of  few  words.     I 


201 


hope  you  won't  take  anything  I've  said  as  at  all  personal 
to  you,  but  only  an  endeavor,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  to  keep 
up  the  credit  of  my  own  establishment ;  as  for  that  little 
trifle  between  us,  of  course  you  can  take  your  own  time 
about  that.''  So  saying,  and  with  a  profusion  of  unnoticed 
courtesies,  she  quitted  the  room. 

She  had  scarcely  done  so,  when,  with  a  deep  groan  of 
agony.  Sterling  pressed  his  hand  against  his  head,  and 
staggered  to  a  chair.  In  an  instant,  Henry  and  his  wife 
were  by  his  side. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  ray  dear  Sterling  V  cried  Henry. 

"  Don't  come  near  me,"  replied  the  old  clerk,  the  very 
picture  of  despair  and  wretchedness  ;  "  I  am  the  destroyer 
of  your  peace,  and  of  my  own,  for  ever.  Oh  !  why  was  I 
allowed  to  see  this  dreadful  day  ?  Curse  me,  Travers ! 
Bellow  in  my  blunted  ear,  that  my  vile  sense  may  drink  it 
in.     I've  lost  it— lost  it !" 

"  Not  the  money  ?"  exclaimed  Henry  and  his  wife  at  a 
breath. 

"  That's  right !  kill  me — kill  me  !  I  deserve  it !"  contin- 
ued Sterling,  in  an  agony  of  grief.  "  Oh  !  careless,  guilty, 
unhappy  old  man,  that  in  your  own  fall  must  drag  down 
all  you  love,  to  share  your  ruin  !  lost — lost — lost,  for  ever  I" 

"  Forgive  even  the  appearance  of  injustice,  my  good, 
kind  old  friend,"  soothingly  observed  Travers.  "  It  is  I 
who  am  the  doomed  one.  There  is  no  use  in  striving 
against  destiny." 

"  Don't,  Henry,  don't !"  gasped  the  old  clerk,  through 
his  fast-falling  tears.     "  This  kindness  is  worse  than  your 

9* 


202 


reproof.  Let  me  die — let  me  die !  I  am  not  fit  to  live  !" 
Suddenly  starting  to  his  feet,  lie  cried :  "  I'll  run  back — 
perhaps  I  may  find  it.  Ob  !  no — no  !  I  cannot ;  my  old 
limbs,  braced  up  by  the  thought  of  bringing  you  happi- 
ness, are  weakened  by  the  effect  of  this  terrible  reac- 
tion !" 

"  Come — come,  old  friend,  take  it  not  so  much  to  heart !" 
said  Travers,  cheering  him  as  well  as  he  could.  "  There, 
lean  upon  me ;  we'll  go  and  search  for  it  together,  and 
even  if  it  be  not  found,  the  loss  is  not  a  fatal  one,  so  long 
as  life  and  health  remain." 

"  You  say  this  but  to  comfort  me,  and  in  your  great 
kindness  of  heart,  dear,  dear  boy !"  cried  Sterling,  as  he 
rose  from  the  chair,  and  staggered  out  to  retrace  his  steps, 
in  the  hope  of  regaining  that  which  had  been  lost. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE     PIECE     OF     LUCK 


It  so  happened  that  the  very  truckman  who  was  sent  to 
take  Henry's  trunks,  was  our  friend  Bobolink,  who  was 
plying  in  the  vicinity,  and  as  it  was  his  first  job,  he  was 
anxious  enough  to  get  it  accomplished ;  therefore,  a  few 
minutes  before  Sterling  came  out,  he  and  his  protege,  Bry- 
an, the  Irishman,  trotted  up  to  the  door. 


203 


"There!  away  with  you  up,  and  get  the  trunks,"  said 
Bobolink ;  "  Til  wait  for  you  here." 

Bryan  timidly  rung  at  the  bell,  and  entered.  In  the 
meantime,  Tom  stood  at  his  horse's  head,  pulling  his  ears, 
and  having  a  little  contidential  chat.  Taking  out  his  wal- 
let, he  investigated  its  contents. 

"  Only  fifty  cents,"  he  exclaimed,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
"  and  this  job  will  make  a  dollar — that's  all  the  money  in 
the  world." 

In  putting  back  his  greasy,  well-worn  wallet,  his  eye 
happened  to  fall  upon  an  object,  which  made  the  blood 
rush  with  a  tremendous  bound  through  his  frame.  Lying 
close  to  the  curb,  just  below  his  feet,  was  a  large  pocket- 
book. 

"  Good  gracious  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  what's  that  ?  It  looks 
very  like  " — (picking  it  up  hurriedly,  and  taking  a  hasty 
survey  of  its  contents) — "  it  is — money — heaps  of  money 
— real,  good  money,  and  such  a  lot — all  fifties  and  twen- 
ties !"  And  now  a  crowd  of  contending  thoughts  pressed 
upon  his  brow.  First,  he  blessed  his  good  luck ;  then,  he 
cursed  the  hea\iness  of  the  temptation — he  thrust  it  deep 
into  his  bosom  ;  again,  he  thought  he  would  place  it  where 
he  found  it ;  at  one  moment  he  would  whistle,  and  endea- 
vor to  look  unconcerned ;  at  another,  he  would  tremble 
with  apprehension.  What  to  do  with  it,  he  did  not  know  ; 
but  the  tempter  was  too  strong ;  he  at  last  determined  to 
retain  it.  "It's  a  windfall,"  said  he  to  himself;  "  nobody 
has  seen  me  take  it.  Such  a  large  sum  of  money  could 
not  have  been  lost  by  a  poor  person,  and  nobody  wants  it 
more  than  I  do  myselfl     I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  keep  it  I'' 


204  o'bryan's    luck. 

Just  then  Bryan  emerged  from  the  door,  with  a  most 
lachrymose  expression  of  countenance,  and  was  very  much 
astonished  to  find  that  his  stay  did  not  produce  an  equally 
woe-begone  effect  upon  Tom. 

"  There's  no  thrunks  goin',"  said  Bryan.  "  The  fellow 
as  was  leavin',  ain't  leavin'  yet ;  because  somebody's  after 
leavin'  him  a  lot  o'  money. 

"Come,  jump  up,  then,"  cried  Bobolink,  "and  don't  be 
wasting  time  there." 

At  that  moment  his  eye  caught  that  of  Sterling,  who, 
with  Travers,  had  commenced  a  search  for  the  lost  pocket- 
book.  Instinct  told  him  in  an  instant  what  their  occupa- 
tion was,  and  yet  he  determined  to  keep  the  money. 

"  My  man,"  said  Travers  to  Bryan,  "  did  you  see  any- 
thing of  a  pocket-book  near  this  door  ?" 

"  Is  it  me  ?"  replied  Bryan.  "  Do  I  look  as  if  I'd  seen 
it «     I  wish  I  had  !" 

"  What  for  ?  you'd  keep  it,  I  suppose  ?"  observed  Travers. 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  keep,"  replied  Bryan ;  "  and  to  you 
for  thinkin'  it!  but  it's  the  way  of  the  world — a  ragged 
waistcoat's  seldom  suspected  of  hidin'  an  honest  heart." 

"  Come,  old  friend,"  said  Henry  to  Sterling,  "  these  men 
have  not  seen  it,  evidently ;"  and  off  they  went  on  their 
fruitless  errand,  while  a  feeling  of  great  relief  spread  it- 
self over  Bobolink's  heart  at  their  departure. 

"  How  wild  that  ould  fellow  looked,"  said  Bryan. 

" Humbug !"  replied  Bobolink;  "it  was  only  put  on  to 
make  us  give  up  the  pocket-book." 

"  Make  us  give  it  up  ?" 

"  Yes ;  that  is  to  say,  if  we  had  it.     There,  don't  talk. 


8     LUCK.  205 

Pm  sick.  Fve  got  an  oppression  on  my  chest,  and  if  I 
don't  get  relief,  I'll  drop -in  the  street." 

"  Indeed,  an'  somethin's  come  over  ye  since  mornin',  sure 
enough,"  said  Bryan  ;  "  but  you've  been  kind,  an'  good,  an' 
generous  to  me,  an'  may  I  never  taste  glory,  but  if  I  could 
do  you  any  good  by  takin'  half  yer  complaint,  I'd  do  it." 

"  I  dare  say  you  would,"  replied  Tom ;  ''  but  my  consti- 
tution's strong  enough  to  carry  it  all.  There,  you  run 
home,  and  tell  Polly  Til  be  back  early.  1  don't  want  you 
any  more." 

As  soon  as  Bryan  was  off.  Bobolink  sat  down  on  his 
truck,  and  began  to  ruminate.  His  first  thought  was  about 
his  wife.  "  Shall  I  tell  Polly  ?"  thought  he.  "  I've  never 
kept  a  secret  from  her  yet.  But,  suppose  she  wouldn't  let 
me  keep  it  ?  I  shan't  say  a  word  about  it.  I'll  hide  it  for 
a  short  time,  and  then  swear  I  got  a  prize  in  the  lottery." 
It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  still  on  the  spot 
where  he  had  found  the  money.  "  Good  Heaven,"  said  he, 
"  why  do  I  linger  about  here  ?  I  must  be  away — away 
anywhere !  and  yet  I  feel  as  though  I  was  leaving  my  life's 
happiness  here.  Pooh !  lots  of  money  will  make  any  one 
happy."  So  saying,  and  singing — but  with  most  con- 
strained jollity — one  of  the  songs  which  deep  bitterness 
had  called  up  spontaneously  from  his  heart,  he  drove  to 
the  nearest  groggery,  feeling  assured  that  he  should  require 
an  unusual  stimulant  of  liquor,  to  enable  him  to  fitly  bear 
this  accumulation  of  good  luck,  which  did  not  justly  be- 
long to  him. 


206  o'bkyan's    luok 


CHAPTER    V. 

HOME. 

"  What  a  dear,  considerate,  good-natured  husband  I 
have,  to  be  sure !  The  proudest  lady  in  the  land  can't  be 
happier  than  I  am  in  my  humble  house,"  said  Polly,  as  she 
bustled  about  to  prepare  for  Tom's  coming  home,  having 
been  informed  by  Bryan  that  she  was  to  expect  him. 
"  Poor  fellow  !  he  may  well  be  tired  and  weary.  I  must 
get  his  bit  of  supper  ready.  Hush  !  that's  his  footstep," 
she  continued.  But  something  smote  her  as  she  noticed 
the  fact,  that  he  was  silent.  There  was  no  cheering  song 
bursting  from  his  throat — no  glad  word  of  greeting ;  but 
he  entered  the  door,  moody  and  noiseless.  Another  glance. 
Did  not  her  eye  deceive  her  ?  No  !  The  fatal  demon  of 
Liquor  had  imprinted  his  awful  mark  upon  his  brow.  She 
went  up  to  him,  and,  in  a  voice  of  aflection,  asked  what 
was  the  matter. 

"  Matter  ?  What  should  be  the  matter  ?"  he  answered, 
peevishly. 

"  Don't  speak  so  crossly,  Thomas,"  said  she,  in  a  subdued 
voice  ;  "  you  know  I  did  not  mean  any  harm." 

"  Bless  your  little  soul !  I  know  you  didn't,"  he  exclaimed, 
giving  her  a  hearty  embrace.     "  It's  me  that's  the  brute." 

"  Indeed,  Thomas,  you  are  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she 
went  on,  the  cheerful  smile  once  more  on  her  lip. 


LUCK.  207 

"  I  am,  Polly  ;  I  insist  upon  being  a  brute.  Ah  1  you 
don't  know  all." 

"  All  NvLat }  you  alarm  me  1" 

"  I  wish  I  dared  tell  her,"  thought  Bobolink ;  "  I  will ! 
I've  found  a  jolly  lot  of  money  to-day,  Polly.' 

"  How  much,  Thomas  ?" 

"  Shall  I  tell  her  ?  I've  a  great  mind  to  astonish  her 
weak  nerves.  How  much  do  you  think  ?"  cried  he,  with  a 
singular  expression,  which  Polly  attributed  but  to  one  ter- 
rible cause,  and  she  turned  sadly  away.  That  angered  him 
— for  men  in  such  moods  are  captious  about  trifles.  "  I 
won't  tell  her,"  said  he ;  "  she  doesn't  deserve  it.  Well, 
then,  I've  earned  a  dollar" 

"  Only  a  dollar  ?"  replied  Polly.  "  Well,  never  mind, 
dear  Thomas,  we  must  make  it  do  ;  and  better  a  dollar 
earnt,  as  you  have  earnt  yours,  by  your  own  honest  indus- 
try, than  thousands  got  in  any  other  way." 

Somehow  Tom  fancied  that  everything  she  said  was 
meant  as  so  many  digs  at  him,  forgetting,  in  his  insane 
drunkenness,  that  she  must  have  been  ignorant  of  what 
had  passed.  The  consequence  was,  that  he  became  crosser 
than  ever. 

"  Why  do  you  keep  saying  savage  things,  that  you  know 
must  aggravate  me  ?"  he  cried.  "  I  can't  eat.  Have  you 
any  brandy  in  the  house  ?  I  have  a  pain  here !"  and  he 
clasped  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  where  the  pocket-book 
lay  concealed.     "  I  think  the  brandy  would  relieve  me." 

*'  My  poor  Thomas,"  replied  his  wife,  afl"ectionately ; 
**  something  must  have  happened  to  annoy  you  !     I  never 


208 


saw  you  thus  before ;  but  you  are  so  seldom  the  worse  for 
drink,  that  I  will  not  upbraid  you.  The  best  of  men  are 
subject  to  temptation." 

At  that  word  Bobolink  started  from  his  seat,  and  orazinc 
intently  in  her  face,  exclaimed — 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  Why,  even  you,  Thomas,  have  been  tempted  to  forget 
yourself"  she  replied. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  he  thundered,  his  face  now  sickly 
pale. 

"  I  can  see  it  in  every  feature,  my  poor  husband !"  said 
she,  sorrowfully,  as  she  quitted  the  room  to  get  the  brandy 
he  required. 

"  I  suppose  you  can,"  muttered  Bobolink  to  himself,  as 
he  fell  into  the  chair,  utterly  distracted  and  unhappy ; 
"  everybody  can.  I'm  a  marked,  miserable  man  !  and  for 
what  ?  I'll  take  it  back ;  no,  no !  I  can't  now,  for  I've 
denied  it !" 

"  Something  has  happened  to  vex  you  terribly,  my  dear 
husband  !"  cried  Polly,  as  she  returned  with  a  small  bottle 
of  brandy. 

"  Well,  suppose  there  has,"  replied  he,  in  a  loud  and 
angry  tone,  "  is  a  man  accountable  to  his  wife  for  every 
moment  of  his  life  ?  Go  to  bed  !  Where's  the  use  in 
whimpering  about  it  ?  You've  had  such  a  smooth  road 
all  your  life,  that  the  first  rut  breaks  your  axle.  Come, 
don't  mind  me,  Polly  !"  he  went  on,  suddenly  changing  to 
a  joyous  laugh,  and  yet  somewhat  subdued  by  the  tears 
that  now  flowed  down  his  wife's  pale  cheeks ;  "  I  don't 


209 


mean  to  worry  you,  but — but  you  see  that  I'm  a  little 
sprung.  Leave  me  to  myself,  there's  a  good  girl !  Come, 
kiss  me  before  you  go.  Ha  !  ha  !  I'll  make  a  lady  of  you 
yet,  Pol !  see  if  I  don't.  Didn't  you  hear  me  tell  you  to 
go  to  bed  ?" 

"  Yes,  Thomas,  but  "— 

"But  what?" 

"  Pray,  drink  no  more." 

"Fll  drink  just  as  much  as  I  please;  and,  moreover,  I 
won't  be  dictated  to  by  you,  when  I  can  buy  your  whole 
stock  out,  root  and  branch.  I've  stood  your  nonsense  long 
enough,  so  take  my  advice  and  start." 

"  Oh  1  Thomas — Thomas  !"  cried  his  weeping  wife,  as 
she  hurried  to  her  little  bedroom ;  "  never  did  I  expect 
this,  and  you'll  be  soriy  for  it  in  the  morning." 

"  Damn  it !  I  am  an  unfeeling  savage.  Don't  cry,  Pol !" 
he  shouted  after  her,  as  she  quitted  the  room  ;  "  I  didn't 
intend  to  hurt  your  feelings,  and  I  won't  drink  any  more, 
there.     Say  God  bless  you  before  you  go  in,  wou't  you  1" 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  husband  !"  said  the  loving  wife. 

"That's  right,  Pol!" 

As  soon  as  Tom  found  himself  quite  alone,  he  looked 
carefully  at  the  fastenings  of  the  doors  and  windows,  and 
having  cleared  the  little  table  of  its  contents,  proceeded  to 
examine  the  interior  of  the  pocket-book.  With  a  tremu- 
lous hand  and  a  quick-beating  heart,  he  drew  it  forth,  start- 
ing at  the  slightest  sound ;  tearing  it  open,  he  spread  the 
thick  bundle  of  notes  before  him ;  the  sight  seemed  to 
dazzle  his  eye-sight ;  his  breath  became  heavy  and  suffoca 


210  o'beyan's    luck. 

ting;  there  was  more,  vastly  more,  than  he  had  ever 
dreamed  of. 

"  What  do  I  see  ?"  he  cried,  while  his  eyes  sparkled  with 
the  fire  of  suddenly-awakened  avarice,  "  tens — fifties — 
hundreds — I  do  believe — thousands  !  I  never  saw  such  a 
sight  before.  What  sound  was  that  ?  I  could  have  sworn 
I  heard  a  small  voice  call  out  my  name.  For  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  I  feel  like  a  coward.  I  never  yet  feared  to 
stand  before  a  giant !  now,  a  boy  might  cow  me  down. 
Pshaw  !  it's  because  I'm  not  used  to  handling  money." 

Again  and  again,  he  tried  to  count  up  liow  much  the 
amount  was,  but  grew  confused,  and  had  to  give  it  up. 

'*  Never  mind  how  much  there  is,"  he  cried,  at  last ;  "  it's 
mine — all  mine  !  nobody  saw  me  ;  nobody  knows  it : 
nobody — but  one — but  one  !"  he  continued,  looking  upward 
for  an  instant,  and  then,  clasping  his  hands  together,  and 
leaning  his  head  over  the  money,  he  wept  bitter  tears  over 
his  great  Piece  of  Luck. 


CHAPTER    VI 


THE     WILL. 


At  a  splendid  escritoir  Mr.  Granite  sat,  in  his  own  room, 
surrounded  by  the  luxurious  appliances  which  wait  upon 
wealth,  however  acquired.     The  face  of  the  sitter  is  deadly 


o ^Bryan's    luck.  211 

pale,  for  be  is  alone,  and  amongst  his  most  private  papers. 
Ho  has  missed  one,  upon  which  the  permanence  of  his 
worldly  happiness  hung.  Diligently  has  he  been  searching 
for  that  small  scrap  of  paper,  which  contained  the  sentence 
of  death  to  his  repute.  Oh !  the  agony  of  that  susi)ense  ! 
It  could  not  have  been  abstracted,  for  it  was  in  a  secret 
part  of  his  writing-desk ;  although  by  the  simplest  accident 
in  the  w^orld  it  had  now  got  mislaid ;  yet  was  he  destined 
not  to  recover  it.  In  hastily  taking  out  some  papers,  it 
had  dropped  through  the  opening  of  the  desk,  which  was 
a  large  one,  upon  the  carpet,  where  it  remained,  unper- 
ceived.  In  the  midst  of  his  anxious  and  agonized  search, 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  even  paler  and  more 
heart-broken  than  the  merchant  himself,  Sterling  tottered 
into  the  room. 

"  Well,  my  good  Sterling,"  said  the  merchant,  with  a 
great  eflbrt  stifling  his  own  apprehension,  "  I  am  to  be 
troubled  no  more  by  that  fellow's  pitiful  whiniugs.  I  was 
a  fool  to  be  over-persuaded  ;  but  benevolence  is  my  failing 
— a  commendable  one,  I  own — but  still  a  failing." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  sir,  for  you  now  have 
a  great  opportunity  to  exercise  it." 

"  Ask  me  for  nothing  more,  for  I  have  done  " —  inter- 
rupted Granite ;  fancying  for  an  instant  that  he  might  have 
placed  the  missing  document  in  a  secret  place,  where  he 
was  sometimes  in  the  habit  of  depositing  matters  of  the 
first  importance,  he  quitted  the  room  hurriedly. 

"  Lost !  lost,  for  ever !  I  have  killed  the  son  of  my  old 
benefactor !"  cried  Sterling.     "  He  can't  recover  from  the 


2111  o'bkyan's    luck. 

shock — nor  I — nor  I !  my  heart  is  breaking — to  fall  from 
such  a  height  of  joy  into  such  a  gulf  of  despair — I,  who 
could  have  sold  my  very  life  to  bring  him  happiness."  At 
that  moment  his  eye  caught  a  paper  which  lay  on  the  car- 
pet, and  with  the  instinct  of  a  clerk's  neatness  solely,  he 
picked  it  up  and  put  it  on  the  table  before  him.  "  The 
crime  of  self-destruction  is  great,"  he  continued,  "  but  I 
am  sorely  tempted.  With  chilling  selfishness  on  one  side, 
and  dreadful  misery  on  the  other,  life  is  but  a  weary  bur- 
den." Carelessly  glancing  at  the  paper  which  he  had 
taken  from  the  floor,  he  read  the  name  of  Travers ;  he 
looked  closely  at  it,  and  discovered  that  it  was  an  abstract 
of  a  will.  Curiosity  prompted  him  to  examine  it,  and  his 
heart  gave  one  tremendous  throb,  when  he  discovered  it  to 
bear  date  after  the  one  by  w^hich  Henry,  in  a  fit  of  anger, 
was  disinherited  by  his  father. 

The  old  man  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  if  ever  a  fervent, 
heartfelt  prayer  issued  fi-om  the  lips  of  mortal,  he  then 
prayed  that  he  might  but  live  to  see  that  great  wrong 
righted. 

He  had  but  just  time  to  conceal  the  paper  within  his 
breast,  when  Granite  returned. 

"  You  here  yet  ?"  he  cried.  "  Have  I  not  done  enough 
to-day?  What  other  beggarly  brat  do  you  come  suing 
for?" 

"  For  none,  dear  sir,"  said  Sterling.  "  I  would  simply 
test  that  benevolence,  of  which  you  spoke  but  now — the 
money  which  you  sent  to  Travers  " — 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?" 


o'bryan's    luck.  213 

**  I  have  lost !" 

"  Pooh  !  old  man,"  continued  the  other,  contemptuously, 
"  don't  think  to  deceive  me  by  such  a  stale  device ;  that's 
A  very  old  trick." 

"  You  don't  believe  me  ?" 

"  No." 

"  After  so  many  years !"  cried  the  old  man,  with  tear- 
choked  utterance. 

"  The  temptation  was  too  much  for  you,"  bitterly  replied 
the  merchant.  The  old  leaven  exhibited  itself  once  more. 
"  You  remember  " — 

"  Silence,  sir  !"  cried  the  old  man,  drawing  up  his  aged 
form  into  sudden  erectness,  while  the  fire  of  indignation 
illumined  his  lustreless  eye.  "  The  majesty  of  my  integ- 
rity emboldens  me  to  say  that,  even  to  you — your  cruel 
taunt  has  wiped  out  all  of  feeling  that  I  had  for  you — fel- 
low-sinner, hast  thou  not  committed  an  error  also  ?" 

"  Insolent !  how  dare  you  insinuate  ?" 

"  I  don't  insinuate  ;  I  speak  out ;  nay,  not  an  error,  but 
a  crime.     I  know  you  have,  and  can  prove  it." 

"  Away,  fool !  you  are  in  your  dotage." 

"  A  dotage  that  shall  wither  you  in  your  strength,  and 
strip  you  of  your  ill-bought  possessi^s,"  exclaimed  the 
old  man,  with  nearly  the  vigor  of  youth  ;  "  since  Humanity 
will  not  prompt  you  to  yield  up  a  portion  of  your  stolen 
wealth.  Justice  shall  force  you  to  deliver  it  all — aye,  all  1" 

"  Villain  !  what  riddle  is  this  ?"  cried  Granite,  with  a 
vague  presentiment  that  the  missing  paper  was  in  some 
way  connected  with  this  contretemps. 

*'  A  riddle  easily  solved,"  answered  Sterling.     "  Behold 


214  o'bryan's    luck. 

its  solution,  if  your  eyes  dare  look  at  it !  A  will,  devising 
all  the  property  you  hold  to  Henry  Travers !  There  are 
dozens  who  can  swear  to  my  old  employer's  signature. 
Stern,  proper  justice  should  prompt  me  to  vindicate  his 
son's  cause  ;  yet,  I  know  that  he  would  not  purchase  wealth 
at  the  cost  of  your  degradation.  Divide  equally  with  him, 
and  let  the  past  be  forgotten." 

There  was  but  one  way  that  Granite  could  regain  his 
vantage-ground,  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  shrink  from  it. 

With  a  sudden  bound,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  weak 
old  clerk,  and  snatching  the  paper  from  him,  exclaimed — 

"  You  shallow-pated  fool !  think  you  that  you  have  a 
child  to  deal  with  ?  The  only  evidence  that  could  fling  a 
shadow  across  my  good  name  would  be  your  fragment  of 
miserable  breath,  which  I  could  take,  and  would,  as  easily 
as  brush  away  a  noxious  wasp,  but  that  I  despise  you  too 
entirely  to  feel  your  sting.  Go,  both  of  you,  and  babble 
forth  your  injuries  to  the  world !  go,  and  experience  how 
poor  a  conflict  starveling  honesty  in  rags  can  wage  against 
iniquity  when  clad  in  golden  armor  !  I  defy  ye  all !  Be- 
hold how  easily  I  can  destroy  all  danger  to  myself,  and 
hope  to  him  at  once."  So  saying,  he  held  the  paper  to  the 
lamp,  and,  notwithstanding  the  ineflfectual  eflbrts  of  Ster- 
ling to  prevent  it,  continued  so  to  hold  it  until  a  few  tran- 
sitory sparks  were  all  that  remained  of  Henry  Travers's 
inheritance. 

Sterling  said  not  a  syllable,  but,  with  a  glance  at  the 
other,  which  had  in  it  somewhat  of  inspiration,  pointed 
upward,  and  slowly  staggered  from  the  room. 


8     LUCK.  215 


CHAPTER    VII. 

MORNING     THOUGHTS. 

'I'liE  early  grey  of  dawn  peeped  furtively  through  the 
shutters  of  Tom  Bobolink's  home,  and  as  they  strength- 
ened and  strengthened,  fell  upon  a  figure  which  could 
scarcely  be  recognized  as  the  same  joyous-hearted  individ- 
ual of  the  day  before.  On  the  floor  lay  Tom  ;  the  candle, 
which  had  completely  burned  out  in  its  socket,  close  to  his 
head ;  one  hand  grasped  the  empty  bottle,  and  the  other 
was  tightly  clutched  within  his  breast. 

And  now  another  scarcely  less  sorrowful-looking  figure 
is  added.  Polly  gazes,  with  tearful  eyes,  upon  the  pros- 
trate form.  He  is  evidently  in  the  maze  of  some  terrible 
dream,  for  his  head  rolls  fearfully  about,  his  limbs  are  con- 
vulsed, and  his  breathing  is  thick  and  heavy. 

Polly  stooped  down  to  awake  him  gently,  when,  at  the 
slightest  touch,  he  started  at  one  bound  to  his  feet,  mutter- 
ing incoherent  words  of  terror  and  apprehension  ;  his  eyes 
rolled  about  wildly.  He  seized  Polly,  and  held  her  at 
arras'  length  for  an  instant,  until  he  fairly  realized  his 
actual  situation,  when  he  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  that 
chilled  his  poor  wife's  very  blood. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  Pol,  is  that  you  ?"  he  cried,  wildly.  "  I've 
been  a  bad  boy,  I  know ;  but  I'll  make  up  for  it  gloriously, 


216 


my  girl.  Ugh  !  what  a  dream  I've  had.  Ah  !  the  dark- 
ness is  a  terrible  time  to  get  over  when  one's  conscience 
is  filling  the  black  night  with  fiery  eyes."  Then,  turning 
to  his  wife,  he  said,  loudly :  "  Polly,  darling,  I'm  ashamed 
of  myself;  but  it  will  be  all  right  by  and  by.  You  were 
cut  out  for  a  rich  woman,  Pol." 

"  Dear  Thomas,  let  me  be  rich  in  the  happiness  of  our 
humble  home  ;  'tis  all  I  ask." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  Suppose  now  you  got  a  heap  of  money 
a  prize  in  the  lottery,  wouldn't  you  like  to  elevate  your 
little  nose,  and  jostle  against  the  big  bugs  in  Broadway  ?" 

*'  Not  at  the  price  of  our  comfort,  Thomas,"  she  answered, 
solemnly. 

"  You're  a  fool !     Money  can  buy  all  sorts  of  comfort." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Thomas,  by  those  hints  about 
money  ?  has  anything  happened  ?'* 

"  Oh  !  no — no  !"  he  replied,  quickly,  turning  his  eyes 
away ;  "  but  there's  no  knowing  when  something  might. 
Now  m  try  her,"  thought  he.  "  It's  my  dream,  Pol.  Shall 
I  tell  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Do,  my  dear  Tom.  Oh !  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  your- 
self once  more." 

"  Well,  dear,"  he  continued,  sitting  close  to  her,  and 
placing  his  arm  around  her  waist,  "  I  dreamed  that  as  I 
was  returning  from  a  job,  what  should  I  see  in  the  street, 
under  my  very  nose,  but  a  pocket-book,  stuffed  full  of 
money.  Presently  the  oyner  came  along.  He  asked  me 
if  I  had  found  it.  I  said  no,  and  came  home  a  rich  man — 
oh !  so  rich  !" 


LUCK.  217 

**  I  know  your  heart  too  well,  Tom,  to  believe  that  such 
a  thing  could  happen  except  in  a  dream,"  said  his  wife,  to 
his  great  annoyance.  He  started  up,  and  after  one  or  two 
turns  about  the  little,  now  untidy,  room,  exclaimed,  angrily : 

"  Why  not  ?  I  should  like  to  know  if  fortune  did — I 
mean — was,  to  fling  luck  in  my  way,  do  you  think  I'd  be 
such  a  cursed  fool  as  not  to  grab  at  it  ?" 

"  Thomas,  you  have  been  drinking  too  much,"  said  she, 


"  No,  no,"  he  interrupted,  "  not  enough  ;  give  me  some 
more." 

"  Not  a  drop,  husband,"  she  replied,  seriously,  and  with 
determination.  "  If  you  will  poison  yourself  it  shall  not 
be  through  my  hand." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  he  cried,  savagely,  "  or  it  may  be  the 
worse  for  you.     I'm  master  of  my  own  house,  I  think." 

"  Home !  ah,  Thomas,  some  evil  spirit  has  stolen  away 
our  once  happy  home  for  ever,"  said  Polly,  as  she  slowly 
and  sorrowfully  returned  again  to  weep  in  the  silence  of 
her  own  room. 

"  There  has,  there  has,"  cried  Tom,  as  she  quitted  him. 
"  And  this  is  it " — pulling  out  the  pocket-book,  which  he 
had  not  left  hold  of  for  an  instant,  and  frowning  despe- 
rately at  it — "  Confound  your  skin,  it's  you  that  has  stolen 
away  our  comfort.  I'll  take  the  cursed  thing  back ;  I 
wouldn't  have  Polly's  eyes  wet  with  sorrow  to  be  made  of 
money — I'll  take  it  back  this  very  blessed  morning ;  and 
somehow  that  thought  brings  a  ray  of  sunlight  ba,ck  to  my 
heart."  So  saying,  he  thrust  the  pocket-book,  as  he 
10 


218 


thought,  safely  within  his  vest,  but  in  his  eagerness  to  take 
extra  care  of  it,  it  slipped  through,  and  dropped  upon  the 
floor ;  his  mind  being  taken  off  for  a  moment  by  the 
entrance  of  Bryan,  to  tell  him  that  the  horse  and  truck 
were  ready. 

"  Very  well,  I'm  glad  of  it,"  cried  Tom.  "  Now  Til  see 
what  the  fine,  bracing,  morning  air  will  do  for- this  cracked 
head  of  mine  ;  now  then,  to  take  this  back,"  and  he  slapped 
his  chest,  under  the  full  impression  that  the  pocket-book 
was  there.  "  Bryan,  I  don't  want  you  for  half  an  hour  ; 
just  wait  till  I  come  back,  will  you  ?" 

"  That  I  will,  sir,  and  welcome,"  said  Bryan,  and  with  a 
merry  song  once  more  at  his  lip,  and  a  cheerful  good-bye 
to  Polly,  to  whose  heart  both  brought  comfort  in  her  great 
sadness,  Bobolink  mounted  his  truck,  and  trotted  off. 

Meantime  Bryan,  now  left  alone  in  the  room,  dived  into 
the  recesses  of  his  capacious  coat-pocket,  and  producing 
from  thence  a  piece  of  bread  and  cheese,  moralized  the 
while  upon  the  pleasant  change  in  his  prospects. 

"Long  life  to  this  tindher-hearted  couple,"  said  he. 
"  Shure  an'  I'm  on  the  high  road  to  good  luck  at  last ; 
plenty  of  the  best  in  the  way  of  atin',  and  an  elegant  sta- 
ble to  sleep  in,  with  a  Christian-like  quadruped  for  com- 
pany ;  av  I  had  only  now  a  trifle  o'  money  to  get  myself 
some  clothes — these  things  doesn't  look  well  in  this  part 
of  the  world,"  casting  his  eyes  down  in  not  over-delighted 
contemplation  of  his  nether  integuments.  "  A  little  bit  o' 
money  now  would  make  me  so  happy  an'  industrious,  I 
could  take  the  buzz  out  of  a  hive  o'  bees.     The  saints  be- 


LUCK.  219 

tween  us  and  all  mischief,  what's  that  ?"  he  continued,  start- 
ing to  his  feet,  as  his  glance  fell  upon  the  pocket-book 
which  Tom  had  dropped.  "  It  serves  me  right,"  he  went 
on,  his  face  suddenly  becoming  pale  as  paper,  "  to  wish  for 
any  such  thing.  I  don't  want  it — it  was  all  a  mistake,' 
cried  he,  apologetically.  "  This  is  the  devil's  work ;  no 
sooner  do  I  let  a  word  out  o'  me  mouth,  that  I  didn't  mane 
at  all  at  all,  but  the  evil  hlaggard  sticks  a  swadge  of  tempt- 
ation right  before  me.     I  won't  have  it — take  it  away." 

At  that  instant  Polly  returned  into  the  room.  "  Take 
care  liow  you  come — don't  walk  this  way,"  said  Bryan. 
"  Look  !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  cried  Polly,  in  alarm. 

"  Timptation !"  shouted  Bryan.  "  I  was  foolish  enough 
just  now  to  wish  for  a  trifle  of  money,  and  may  I  niver  see 
glory  if  that  lump  of  a  pocket-book  didn't  sprout  up  before 
me  very  eyes." 

"  Pocket-book,  eh  ?"  cried  Polly,  seizing  it  in  her  hands, 
despite  of  the  comic  apprehension  of  Bryan,  who  insisted 
that  it  would  burn  her  fingers.  The  whole  truth  flashed 
across  her  mind  at  once.  Tom's  dream  was  no  dream,  but 
a  reality,  and  the  struggle  in  his  mind  whether  to  keep  or 
return  it,  had  caused  that  sleepless  and  uncomfortable 
night.  "Bryan,"-said  she,  quickly,"  did  you  hear  any  one 
say  that  they  had  lost  any  money  yesterday  ?" 

"  Let  me  see,"  replied  the  other.  "  Yes,  to  be  sure,  44 
came  out  of  the  hall-door,  and  axed  me  if  I  saw  a  pocket- 
book." 

"  It  must  be  his.     Thank  God  for  this  merciful  dispensa 


220 


tion,"  cried  the  agitated  wife.  "  Quick,  quick,  my  bonnet 
and  shawl,  and  come  you,  Bryan,  you  know  the  place ;  this 
money  must  be  that  which  was  lost." 

"  I'm  wid  you,  ma'am,"  answered  Bryan.  "  Who  knows 
but  that  may  be  the  identical  pocket-book  ;  at  any  rate  it'll 
do  as  well  if  there's  as  much  money  in  it,  and  if  there 
isn't,  there'll  be  another  crop  before  we  come  back." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


RE  TRI  BUTION, 


Snugly  ensconced  in  his  own  particular  apartment,  Mr. 
Granite  had  flung  himself  in  post-prandial  abandon  into 
his  easiest  of  easy-chairs.  Leisurely,  and  with  the  smack 
of  a  true  connoisseur,  he  dallied  with  a  glass  of  exquisite 
Madeira.  The  consciousness  of  the  enviable  nature  of  his 
worldly  position  never  imbued  him  so  thoroughly  as  at 
such  a  moment.  Business  was  flourishing,  his  health  was 
excellent,  and  his  son,  on  whom  he  concentrated  all  the 
affection  of  which  his  heart  was  capable,  had  recently  dis- 
tinguished himself  at  a  college  examination.  Everything, 
in  fact,  seemed  to  him  couleur  de  rose. 

It  can  readily  be  imagined  that  to  be  disturbed  at  such 
a  period  of  enjoyment  was  positive  high  treason  against 
the  home  majesty  of  the  mercantile  monarch. 


0 'Bryan's    luck.  221 

Fancy,  therefore,  what  a  rude  shock  it  was  to  his  quiet, 
when  he  was  informed  that  Mr.  Sterling  wished  to  see  him 
on  a  matter  of  the  greatest  importance.  "  I  cannot,  I  will 
not  see  him,  or  anybody,"  said  the  enraged  potentate  ; 
"  you  know,  he  knows,  my  invariable  rule.  It  must  not 
be  infringed,  for  any  one  whatever,  much  less  for  such  a 
person,"  and,  closing  his  eyes  in  a  spasm  of  self-sufficiency, 
he  again  subsided  into  calmness,  slightly  ruffled,  however, 
by  the  outrageous  attack  upon  his  privacy. 

He  had  just  succeeded  in  restoring  his  disturbed  equa- 
nimity, when  he  was  once  more  startled  into  ill-humor  by 
the  sound  of  voices  as  if  in  altercation,  and  a  sharp  knock 
at  the  chamber-door. 

The  next  instant,  to  his  still  greater  surprise  and  anger, 
the  old  clerk.  Sterling,  who  had  been  ignominiously  dis- 
missed since  the  last  interview  between  him  and  Granite, 
stood  before  him.  Every  particle  of  his  hitherto  meekness 
and  humility  had  apparently  vanished,  as  for  a  few  moments 
he  regarded  the  merchant  with  a  fixed  and  penetrating  look. 

"  What  villainous  intrusion  is  this  ?  Where  are  my  ser- 
vants? How  dare  they  permit  my  home  to  be  thus  in- 
vaded?" cried  Granite,  with  flashing  eyes  and  lowering- 
brow. 

"  I  am  here,  not  for  myself,"  replied  Sterling,  calmly, 
"  but  for  the  victim  of  your  rapacity — of  your  terrible 
guilt.  I  have  intruded  upon  you  at  this  unusual  time  to 
inform  you  of  the  extremity  in  which  Travers  is  placed, 
and  from  my  carelessness — my  criminal  carelessness.  Will 
you  not  at  least  remedy  that  ?" 


222 


"  No  !"  thundered  the  exasperated  merchant.  "  Your 
indiscreet  zeal  has  ruined  both  you  and  those  for  whom 
you  plead.  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  of  ye — be- 
gone !" 

"  Not  before  I  have  cautioned  you  that  my  lips,  hitherto 
sealed  for  fear  of  injury  to  him,  shall  henceforward  be 
opened.  Why  should  I  hesitate  to  denounce  one  who  is 
so  devoid  of  common  charity  ?" 

"  Because  no  one  will  believe  you,"  responded  the  other, 
with  a  bitter  sneer.  "  The  denunciations  of  a  discharged 
servant  are  seldom  much  heeded ;  empty  sounds  will  be  of 
no  avail.  Proof  will  be  needed  in  confirmation,  and  where 
are  you  to  find  that  ?" 

"Ah  !  where,  indeed  1  you  have  taken  care  of  that ;  but 
have  you  reflected  that  there  is  a  power  tc^  whom  your 
machinations,  your  schemes  of  aggrandizement,  are  as 
flimsy  as  the  veriest  gossamer  web  ?"  solemnly  ejaculated 
Sterling. 

"Canting  sways  me  as  little  as  your  hurtless  threats. 
"What  I  have,  I  shall  keep  in  spite  of" — 

"  Heaven's  justice  ?"  interposed  the  old  clerk. 

"  In  spite  of  anything  or  everything,"  savagely  replied 
the  irritated  merchant.  "  You  have  your  final  answer,  nor 
is  it  in  the  power  of  angel  or  devil  to  alter  it ;  and  so,  the 
sooner  you  relieve  me  from  your  presence  the  better  I  will 
like  it,  and  the  better  it  may  be  for  your  future  prospects." 

"  Of  my  future,  God  knows,  I  take  no  care ;  but  for  the 
sake  of  those  poor  young  things,  so  cruelly  left  to  struggle 
with  a  hard,  hard  world,  I  feel  that  I  have  strength  even 


o'bryan's    luck.  223 

to  oppose  the  stern  rock  of  your  obstinacy,  almost  hopeless 
though  the  effort  may  be.  I  am  going,"  he  went  on,  see- 
ing the  feverish  impatience  working  in  Granite's  face,  "  but, 
as  a  parting  word,  remember  that  my  dependence  is  not  in 
my  own  ability  to  unmask  your  speciousness,  or  contend 
against  the  harshness  of  your  determination.  No,  I  sur- 
render my  case  and  that  of  my  clients  into  His  hands  who 
never  suffers  the  guilty  to  triumph  to  the  end.  The  ava- 
lanche falls  sometimes  on  the  fruitfullest  vineyards,  as  well 
as  on  the  most  sterile  waste." 

"  By  Heaven  !  you  exhaust  my  patience,"  roared  the 
other,  as  he  rung  the  servants'  bell  impetuously  ;  "  since 
you  will  not  go  of  your  own  accord,  I  must  indignantly 
thrust  you  forth  into  the  street  like  a  cur." 

"  There  shall  be  no  need  of  that,"  meekly  replied  the 
clerk,  turning  to  leave  the  apartment,  just  as  the  servant 
entered,  bringing  a  letter  for  Mr.  Granite  on  a  silver  waiter. 

The  latter  was  about  to  address  an  angry  sentence  to  the 
servant,  when  he  perceived  that  the  letter  he  carried  was 
enclosed  in  an  envelope  deeply  bordered  with  black. 

His  heart  gave  one  mighty  throb  as  he  snatched  it — 
tearing  it  open,  and  gasping  with  some  terrible  presenti- 
ment of  evil,  he  but  glanced  at  the  contents,  and  with  a 
fearful  shriek  fell  prostrate. 

Sterling  rushed  to  his  side,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  ser- 
vant, loosed  his  neckcloth,  and  placed  him  in  a  chair,  using 
what  immediate  remedies  he  could  command  in  the  hope 
of  restoring  animation.  It  was  some  minutes  before  the 
stricken  man,  clutched  from  his  pride  of  place  in  the  wink- 


224 


ing  of  an  eyelid,  gave  signs  of  returning  vitality.  During 
bis  unconsciousness,  Sterling  ascertained  from  the  open 
letter  lying  at  his  feet,  that  the  merchant's  son,  the  sole 
hope  of  his  existence,  for  whom  he  had  slaved  and  toiled, 
set  at  naught  all  principle,  and  violated  even  the  ties  of 
kindred  and  of  honesty,  had  died  suddenly  at  college. 
No  previous  illness  had  given  the  slightest  shadow  of  an 
apprehension.  He  had  quietly  retired  to  his  b^  at  his 
usual  hour  on  the  previous  night,  and  in  the  morning  was 
found  stark  and  cold.  None  knew  the  agony  which  might 
have  preceded  dissolution.  No  friendly  tongue  was  nigh 
to  speak  of  consolation  ;  no  hand  to  do  the  kindly  ojOfices 
of  nature. 

Slowly,  slowly  and  painfully  the  wretched  parent  re- 
turned to  consciousness,  and  with  it,  the  terrible  reality  of 
his  bereavement.  Glaring  around  him  fiercely  :  "  Where 
am  I  ? — what  is  this  ? — w  hy  do  you  hold  me  ?"  he  cried, 
madly.  At  this  instant  his  glance  fell  upon  the  fatal  letter ; 
"  Oh,  God  1  I  know  it  all — all !  my  son  !  my  son  1"  Turn- 
ing upon  Sterling,  fiercely,  he  grasped  him  by  the  throat. 
"  Old  man,"  he  cried,  "  you  have  murdered  him  !  you,  and 
that  villain  Travers!"  Then  he  relaxed  his  gripe,  and  in 
an  agony  of  tears,  fell  to  supplication.  "  It  cannot  be — it 
shall  not  be — oh  !  take  me  to  him — ^vhat  am  I  to  do  ? 
Sterling,  my  old  friend,  oh,  forgive  me — pity  me — let  us 
away."  He  tried  to  stand,  but  his  limbs  were  paralyzed. 
"  The  judgment  has  fallen — I  feared  it — I  expected  it,  but 
not  so  suddenly — it  may  be  that  there  is  still  hope — hope, 
though  ever  so  distant.     Perhaps  a  quick  atonement  may 


o'be'yan's    luck.  225 

avert  the  final  blow.  Quick,  SterliDg— give  me  paper,  and 
pen."  They  were  brought.  "  Now  write,"  he  continued, 
his  voice  growing  fainter  and  fainter  :  "  I  give  Travers  all 
— all — if  this  late  repentance  may  be  heard,  and  my  son 
should  live.  I  know  I  can  rely  on  his  benevolence — quick, 
let  me  sign  it,  for  my  strength  is  faiHng  fast." 

With  extreme  difficulty,  he  appended  his  signature  to 
the  document  Sterling  had  drawn  up  at  his  desire.  When 
it  was  done,  the  pen  dropped  from  his  nerveless  grasp,  his 
lips  moved  for  an  instant  as  though  in  prayer — the  next — 
he  was — nothing ! 


CHAPTER    IX. 

SUNLIGHT. 

Our  scene  shifts  back  to  Mrs.  Grimgriskin's  elegant  es- 
tablishment, where  poor  Travers'  affairs  are  once  more  in  a 
very  dilapidated  state,  as  may  be  inferred  from  the  conver- 
sation now  progressing. 

"  People  as  can't  pay,"  said  the  now  curt  landlady, 
smoothing  down  an  already  very  smooth  apron,  "  needn't 
to  have  no  objections,  I  think,  to  turn  out  in  favor  of  them 
as  can.  I'm  a  woman  of  few  words — very  few  indeed.  I 
don't  want  to  make  myself  at  all  disagreeable ;  but  impos- 
sibles is  impossibles,  and  I  can't  provide  without  I  have 
the  means  to  do  so  with." 

10* 


226  o'bryan's    luck. 

"  My  good  lady,"  interposed  Travers,  "  do  pray  give  me 
a  little  time  ;  my  friend  Sterling  has  again  applied  to  Mr. 
Granite  " — 

"  Pooh !  I'm  sick  of  all  such  excuses  ;  one  word  for  all 
— get  your  trunks  ready.  I'd  rather  lose  what  you  owe 
me  than  let  it  get  any  bigger,  when  there's  not  the  remo- 
test chance,  as  I  can  see,  for  its  liquidation  ;  and,  dear  me, 
how  lucky — I  declare  there's  the  very  truckman  who  came 
the  other  day.  I'll  tell  him  to  stop,  for  I  don't  mind  giv- 
ing you  all  the  assistance  I  can,  conveniently  with  my  own 
interest." 

So  saying,  she  hailed  Tom  Bobolink,  who  was  indeed 
looking  somewhat  wistfully  towards  the  house.  He  was 
just  cogitating  within  his  mind  what  excuse  he  could  make 
to  get  into  the  place,  and  so  rid  himself  of  his  unfortunate 
good  fortune  at  once. 

"  You  trunks,  I  presume  from  appearance,  won't  take  a 
long  time  to  get  ready,"  said  the  delicate  Grimgriskin. 
"  Here,  my  man ;  just  come  in  here,"  she  continued,  as 
Tom,  in  a  state  of  considerable  trepidation,  entered  the 
room  ;  "  this  young  man  will  have  a  job  for  you."  The 
poor  wife  now  joined  Travers,  and  on  inquiring  the  cause 
of  the  slight  tumult,  was  told  by  Henry  that  she  must  pre- 
pare to  seek  an  asylum  away  from  the  hospitable  man- 
sion which  had  recently  afforded  them  a  shelter. 

"  Come,  my  love,"  said  he,  with  a  tolerable  effort  at 
cheerfulness,  "  let  us  at  once  leave  this  mercenary  woman's 
roof" 

"  Mercenary,  indeed !"  the  landlady  shrieked  after  them, 


s    LUCK.  227 

as  they  entered  their  ovm  room.  "  Because  a  person  won't 
suffer  themselves  to  be  robbed  with  their  eyes  open,  they're 
mercenary.  The  sooner  my  house  is  cleared  of  sucli  rub- 
bish, the  better.  Mercenary,  indeed  !"  and  with  an  indig- 
nant toss  of  her  false  curls,  she  flounced  out  of  the  room. 

"  Now  for  it !"  cried  Tom ;  "  the  coast  is  clear ;  what  the 
deuce  shall  I  do  with  it?  I  dare  not  give  it  openly 
suppose  I  say  I  found  it  under  the  sophia.  Egad,  that  will 
do  famously ;  here  goes."  So  saying,  he  plunged  his  hand 
into  his  bosom,  and  to  his  horror  and  consternation  it  was 
not  there ;  his  blood  froze  in  his  veins  for  an  instant,  then 
deluged  him  with  a  perfect  thaw  of  perspiration.  "  Oh, 
miserable,  miserable  wretch,  I've  lost  it,  I've  lost  it ;  what 
is  to  become  of  me !"  In  vain  he  searched  and  searched  ; 
it  was  clean  gone.  "  Oh,  how  can  I  face  Polly  again  ?"  he 
groaned.  "My  life  is  made  unhappy  for  ever;  cursed, 
cursed  luck.  That  ever  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  thing  at  all : 
ha  !"  a  shadowy  hope  flitted  across  him,  that  he  might  have 
left  it  at  home.  "  Could  I  have  been  so  drunken  a  fool  as 
to  leave  it  behind  me  ?  if  so,  where  is  it  now  ?  At  all 
events,  I  must  go  back  as  fast  as  I  can,  for  if  I  cannot 
recover  it,  my  God  !  I  shall  go  mad."  With  a  few  big 
jumps  he  reached  the  street,  and  hastily  mounting  his 
truck,  drove  rapidly  home,  unmindful  of  liie  public  obser- 
vation his  demented  look  and  unusual  haste  produced. 

A  short  time  after  Tom's  sudden  departure,  which  was  a 
perfect  mystery  to  Mrs.  Grimgriskin,  and  also  to  Henry  and 
bis  wife,  a  timid  ring  was  heard  at  the  hall-door,  and  soon 
Travers,  to  whom  every  sound  brought  increase  of  appre- 


228 


hension,  trembled  as  he  became  aware  of  an  altercation 
between  his  irate  landlady  and  the  new  comers,  whoever 
they  were. 

"  I  tell  you  I  must  see  44,  the  man  that  had  the  thrunks, 
goin'  away  a  few  days  agone,"  said  an  unmistakably  Irish 
voice,  rich  and  round. 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  ma'am,"  placidly  continued  a  small, 
silvery  one. 

The  dispute,  however,  was  very  suddenly  cut  short  by 
the  owner  of  the  loud  voice  exclaiming,  "  Arrah,  get  out  o' 
the  road,  you  cantankerus  witch  of  Endher,"  and  O'Bryan 
and  Polly  rushed  up  the  stairs  without  further  ceremony.  ■ 
The  door  of  Travers'  room  was  flung  open.  "  Ha  !  ha  1" 
cried  O'Bryan,  "  there  he  is,  every  inch  of  him  ;  that's  44  ; 
long  life  to  you  ;  and  it's  glad  I  am  I've  found  you,  and  glad 
you'll  be  yourself,  I'm"  thinkin',  if  a  trifle  o'  money  will  do 
yez  any  good." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  my  friend,  what  do  you 
seek  from  me  ?"  demanded  Travers. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  beg  your  pardon  for  breaking  in  upon  you 
BO  suddenly,"  said  Polly,  "but  have  you  lost  any  mo- 
ney !" 

"  I  have,  indeed,"  replied  Henry,  "  a  large  sum  ;  do  you 
know  anything  about  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  cried  Polly,  with  a  radiant  flash  of  her  eye, 
"  Here  it  is ;"  handing  over  the  wallet,  with  its  contents, 
with  a  sigh  of  the  greatest  possible  relief.  "  Tell  me  one 
thing,  sir,"  she  hesitatingly  went  on,  "was  it — was  it- 
taken  from  you  ?'* 


o'bryan's    ltjck.  229 

"  No,  my  good  woman,  it  was  lost  by  an  old  friend  of 
mine,  dropped,  he  believes,  in  the  street." 

"  It  was,  sir,  just  as  you  say,  thank  Heaven  for  it.  Yes, 
sir ;  ray  husband  found  it.  Is  it  all  there,  sir  ?  oh,  pray 
relieve  me  by  saying  it  is." 

"  Yes,  every  penny." 

"  Then,  sir,  whatever  joy  you  may  feel  at  its  restoration 
cannot  equal  what  I  feel  at  this  moment,"  said  Polly, 
while  the  tears  gushed  forth  unrestrainedly  from  her  eyes, 

"Here,  my  good  woman,  you  must  take  a  portion  and 
give  it  to  your  honest  husband,"  said  Henry,  handing  to 
her  a  liberal,  amount  of  the  sum. 

"  Not  a  shilling,  sir,  not  a  shilling,"  Polly  firmly  repeated. 
"  I  hate  to  look  at  it." 

"  Then  would  you,  my  friend,  take  some  reward,"  con- 
tinued he,  addressing  O'Bryan. 

"Is  it  me?  not  av  you  were  me  father,  I  wouldn't," 
said  the  Irishman,  with  a  look  of  horror.  "  I  know  where 
it  came  from  ;  bedad  I  know  the  very  soil  it  sprouted 
out  of.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was,  sir.  You  see  I  was  sittin* 
by  myself,  and,  like  an  ungrateful  blaggard  as  I  am, 
instead  of  thankin'  the  blessed  Heavens  for  the  good  luck 
that  had  fell  a-top  o'  me,  what  should  I  do  but  wish  I  had 
a  bit  o'  money,  for  to  dress  up  my  ugly  anatomy,  when  all 
at  once  that  swadge  of  temptation  dropped  on  the  floor 
before  my  very  face." 

"  Don't  heed  him,  sir,  he  knows  not  what  he  talks  about," 
aaid  Polly.    "  It  is  all  as  I  told  you,  sir.    My  husband"  — 

She  was  interrupted  by  O'Bryan,  who  cried,  "  Here  he 


230 


comes.  May  I  niver  stir  if  he  doesn't,  skelpin'  along  the 
street  in  a  state  of  disthractitude ;  by  me  sowl  it's  here  he's 
coming,  too." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Henry,  "  he  is  employed,  I  believe, 
by  our  worthy  landlady,  to  remove  our  things." 

At  this  moment  Tom  burst  into  the  room,  but  on  seeing 
Polly  and  O'Bryan  he  stopped  short,  as  if  arrested  by  a 
lightning  stroke.  "  You  here,  Polly  ?  have  you  heard  of 
my  crime,"  he  said,  wildly :  but  she  restrained  him  by  gently 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Yes,  Tom,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  I  know  all  about  it,  and 
so  does  this  gentleman.     I  have  restored  the  money." 

"  What  ?"  exclaimed  Bobolink,  while  a  thrill  of  joy  went 
through  his  frame  ;  "  is  this  true  ?" 

"  Hush  !  husband,  dear,  hush  !"  she  continued  ;  "  I  did 
as  you  told  me,  you  know.  I  have  brought  and  given 
back  the  lost  money  to  its  owner.  You  know  you  left  it 
at  home  for  me  to  take." 

"  Ah,  Polly,  I  wish  I  could  tell  this  fellow  that,"  said 
Tom,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  heart ;  "  but  I  did  intend 
to  give  it  back.  I  did,  by  all  my  hopes  of  happi- 
ness." 

"  I  know  you  did,  my  dear  Tom,"  replied  Polly,  earnest- 
ly. "Your  true  heart  could  not  harbor  a  bad  thought 
long." 

"  ^^y  good  friend,"  said  Travers,  approaching  the  truck- 
man. "  Your  wife  has  refused  any  reward  for  this  honest 
act." 

"  She's  right,  sir,  she's  right,"  interrupted  the  other. 


O  \li  K  Y  A  N  '  S     L  U  C  ^  .  231 

"  At  least  you'll  let  me  sliake  you  by  the  Land,  and 
proffer  you  my  frieudship  ?" 

"  I  can't,  Poll,  I  can't,"  said  Tom,  aside,  to  his  wife.  "  I'm 
afraid — Vm  half  a  scoundrel  yet — I  know  I  am  ;  but  I've 
learned  a  wholesome  lesson,  and  while  I  have  life  I'll  strive 
to  profit  by  itJ' 

Urged  to  it  by  Polly,  he  did,  however,  shake  hands  with 
Travers  and  his  wife,  just  as  old  Sterling,  his  face  shrouded 
in  gloom,  and  Mrs.  Grimgriskin,  stiff  and  tigerish,  entered 
the  room. 

"  Ah,  Sterling,  my  good  old  friend,  rejoice  with  us — this 
honest  fellow  has  found,  and  restored  the  money  lost,"  said 
Travers,  gaily;  "but,  how  is  this?  you  don't  join  in  our 
gladness.     Has  that  old  rascal " — 

"  Hold !"  interrupted  the  old  clerk,  in  an  earnest  voice, 
and  impressive  manner ;  "  Heaven  has  avenged  your  wrongs 
in  a  sudden  and  fearful  manner.     Mr.  Granite  is  dead." 

"Deatl!"  exclaimed  Henry,  in  a  subdued  tone;  "with 
him  let  his  misdeeds  be  buried.  His  son  will  perhaps  be 
more  merciful ;  he  will  inherit  " — 

"  He  has  inherited — his  ftither's  fate,"  solemnly  replied 
the  old  clerk.  "  Justice  may  slumber  for  a  while,  but  retri- 
bution must  come  at  last.  You  are  now,  by  the  merchant's 
will,  his  sole  heir." 

"  Ho,  ho  1"  thought  Mrs.  Grimgriskin,  who  had  been  an 
attentive  listener,  "  I'm  a  woman  of  few  words,  but  if  I  had 
been  a  woman  of  less,  perhaps  it  would  be  more  to  ray 
interest ;  but  sudden  millionaires  are  usually  generous ;" 
and  80,  smoothing  her  feline  demeanor  into  quietude,  she 
approached  Travers. 


232 


O'BETANS     LUCK. 


"  Allow  me  most  sincerely  to  congratulate  you  upon 
your  good  fortune,"  she  simpered.  "  Apropos,  the  first 
floor  is  somewhat  in  arrear ;  lovely  apartments,  new  car- 
pet, bath,  hot  water  " 

'*  Plenty  of  that,  Til  be  bail,"  remarked  O'Bryan ; 
"  arrah,  howld  yer  prate,  Mrs,  Woman-of-few-words — don't 
you  see  there's  one  too  many  here  ?" 

"  Then  why  don  t  you  go,  you  ignorant  animal,"  shargly 
suggested  the  other. 

'*  Because  Fm  not  the  an^." 

Suffice  it  to  say,  Henry,  with  his  young  wife,  and  dear 
old  Sterling,  were  soon  installed  in  a  house  of  their  own, 
and,  to  their  credit,  never  lost  sight  of  the  interest  of  Tom 
Bobolink  and  Polly,  who  from  that  day  increased  in  con- 
tent and  prosperity. 

As  for  O'Bryan,  the  last  intimation  we  had  of  his  well- 
doing, was  the  appearance  of  sundry  gigantic  street-bills, 
which  contained  the  foUowinof  announcement : 


VOTE    FOR 

THE 

PEOPLES"    FRIEND. 

O'BRYAX, 

FOB    ALDERMAN. 

THE     TIPPERAEY     VENUS.  233 


THE    TIPPEKAKT    YE:[:^US 


Amongst  a  people  so  simple-hearted  and  enthusiastic  att 
the  Irish,  it  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  a  firm  and  implicit 
belief  in  supernal  agency  should  be  almost  universal.  To 
vivid  imaginations,  ever  on  the  stretch  for  the  romantic, 
yearning  ever  for  something  beyond  the  dull  realities  of 
■  commonplace  existence,  there  is  something  extremely  fascL 
nating  in  the  brain  revellings  of  Fairy  Land. 

Now  the  Irish  fairies  are  very  numerous,  and  all  as  well 
classified,  and  their  varied  occupations  defined  and  described 
by  supernaturalists,  as  though  they  really  were  amongst  the 
things  that  be.  The  "  learned  pundits "  in  such  matters 
declare  that  the  economy  of  human  nature  is  entirely  carried 
on  through  their  agency.  Philosophers  have  demon- 
strated the  atomic  vitality  of  the  universe,  and  the  believer  in 
fairies  simply  allots  them  their  respective  places  and  duties 
in  the  general  distribution.  They  tell  you  that  every 
breath  of  air,  every  drop  of  water,  every  leaf  and  flower, 
teems  with  actual  life.  Myriads  of  tiuy  atomies,  they  say, 
are  employed  carrying  on  the  business  of  existence,  animal, 
vegetable,  and  atmospheric.  Here  are  crowds  of  industrious 
little  chemists,  extracting  dew  froni  moonbeams^  which  they 


234  THE     TIPPEEAKT     VENUS. 

deliver  over  to  relays  of  fairy  laborers,  by  them  to  be 
applied  to  the  languishing  grass.  The  noxious  exhalations 
of  the  earth  are,  by  a  similar  process,  gathered  from  decay- 
ing vegetation,  and  dispersed  or  condensed  into  refreshing 
rain.  The  warm  sunbeams  are  by  them  brought  down 
and  scattered  through  the  fields ;  it  is  the  beautiful  ministry 
of  one  class  to  breathe  upon,  and  gently  force  open,  the 
budding  blossoms,  while  another  seduously  warms  and 
nurtures  the  ripening  corn,  and  tends  the  luscious  fruits. 
Mschievous  fellows  there  also  are,  whose  delight  it  is  to 
try  and  frustrate  the  exertions  of  the  workers.  They 
travel  from  place  to  place,  loaded  with  malign  influences ; 
blight  and  mildew,  and  all  the  destructive  agents  that  blast 
the  hopes  of  the  agriculturist  are  under  their  control ;  and, 
with  an  industry  nearly  equal  to  their  opponents,  they  employ 
their  time  in  trainiDg  caterpillars  and  other  devouring 
insects  to  assist  them  in  the  work  of  desolation. 

Many  are  the  battles,  we  are  informed,  that  occur 
between  the  two  opposing  classes,  and  it  depends  upon 
which  side  has  the  best  of  the  contest  what  the  result  may 
be  to  the  defeated  object ;  whether  they  contend  for  the 
life  of  some  delicate  flower,  or  whether  the  poor  farmer's 
toils  were  to  be  rewarded  or  rendered  hopeless  by  the 
safety  or  the  destruction  of  his  entire  crops. 

But  to  leave  this  fanciful,  and,  it  must  be  admitted, 
poetical  theory,  our  business  now  is  with  an  individual  of 
a  highly  responsible  class  in  the  world  of  Faiiydom — The 
Leprechaun.  A  most  important  personage  he  is ;  being  the 
custodian  of  all  hidden  treasure,  it  is  he  who  fabricates  the 


THE     TIPPEKARY     VENUS.  235 

gold  within  the  rock-encircled  laboratory.  The  precious 
gems,  the  diamond,  sapphire,  ruby,  amethyst,  emerald,  and 
all  the  world- coveted  jewels,  are  in  the  safe  guardianship  of 
the  Leprechaun ;  and  fatal  it  is  to  him  when  aught  is  dis- 
covered and  torn  from  his  grasp — for  his  fairy  existence, 
his  immortal  essence,  is  lost  with  it ;  he  can  no  longer 
sport  through  the  air,  invisible  to  mortal  ken,  but  is  com- 
pelled to  take  a  tangible  form,  and  to  work  at  a  degrading 
occupation — that  of  making  and  mending  the  shoes  of  his 
former  fiiiry  companions. 

The  experiences  of  the  writer  of  this  sketch  in  fairy  lore 
and  anecdote,  were  mostly  gathered  from  a  wild,  Tippe- 
rary  sort  of  cousin,  some  dozens  of  times  removed,  one 
Roderick*  O'Callaghan — familiarly  Rory — or  as,  by  an 
easy  corruption,  he  was  known  "the  country  round," 
Roarin'  O'Callaghan,  who,  in  his  time,  had  gathered  them 
from  the  wilder  henchmen  and  followers  by  whom  he  was 
surrounded,  w^hen,  a  devil-may-care  gossoon,  he  wandered 
among  the  Galtie  mountains^  the  especial  pet  and  perse- 
cutor of  the  entire  neighborhood. 

Many  and  many  were  the  mischievous  pranks  recorded 
of  young  Rory.  I  almost  wish  that  I  had  begun  with  the 
determination  of  recounting  a  few  of  them ;  but,  as  I  have 
•set  myself  another  task,  I  must  defer  that  intention  until  a 
future  opportunity.  I  am  not  at  all  certain  still,  but  that 
my  erratic  nib — for  I  write  "  currente  calamo^''  and  without 
much  especial  method — may  diverge  from  the  grand  cur- 
rent of  narrative,  and,  in  spite  of  myself,  imperceptibly 
stray  into  the  now  interdicted  by-way. 


236  THE     TIPPEKAKY      VENUS. 

It  was  from  Rory  that  I  heard  the  strange  tale  I  am 
now  about  to  relate.  Desperate  boy-rivals  were  we,  at 
that  time,  I  must  tell  you,  for  the  affectionate  regards  of  a 
young  beauty  who  played  old  Harry  with  the  juvenile 
susceptibilities  of  the  whole  vicinage.  Ah !  now  that  my 
memory  has  reverted  to  that  epoch,  .  igression  is  inevita- 
ble. Lovely  Polly  O'Connor  ! — bless  my  soul ;  a  sigh,  even 
at  this  distant  period  ;  how  very  tenacious  these  boy-at- 
tachments are.  I  see  her  as  plainly  now,  mentally  pictured, 
as  though  in  very  deed  she  stood  before  me. 

Both  Rory  and  I  endeavored,  in  the  ardent  enthusiasm  of 
our  fledgling  passion,  to  give  vent  to  the  burning  thoughts 
that  flamed  within  us,  through  the  lover's  peculiar  channel 
— poetry.  My  own  extraordinary  effusion  I  remember — his 
I  have  preserved,  and  although,  at  the  time,  I  knew  well 
which  was  best  entitled  to  the  world's  consideration,  I  sub- 
mit both  productions  now  without  a  remark.  They  will  at 
least  serve  for  a  description,  however  insufficient,  of  our 
inspiratress. 

I  had  an  immense  advantage  over  my  competitor  in 
one  instance ;  for,  hadng  an  acquaintance  in  the  editorial 
department  of  the  local  newspaper,  my  lucubration  lent  a 
lustre  to  the  poets'  corner,  while,  I  am  ashamed  to  confess, 
I  exerted,  successfully,  the  saqje  influence  to  keep  Rory's 
out ;  it  was  was  ungenerous,  I  own,  unpardonable  ;  but 
what  won't  a  boy-rival  do  to  clear  the  onward  path  before 
the  impetuosity  of  a  first  love. 

But  here  is  the  affair,  just  as  it  appeared  in  the  Tippe- 
rary  Gazette,  headed,  as  I  thought,  with  becoming  modesty : 


THE     TIPPERART     VENUS.  237 


LINES  TO   A  YOUNG   LADY. 

I  will  not  venture  to  compare 
Those  flashing  eyes 
To  Buuny  skies ; 
To  threads  of  gold  thy  wealth  of  hair; 
Thy  cheek  unto  the  rose's  glow ; 
Thy  polished  brow, 
To  lilies  glancing  in  the  light, 
Or  Parian  white; 
Tliy  bosom  to  the  virgin  snow — 
For  these 
Are  weak  and  well-worn  similies. 

Thine  eyes  are  like— like— let  me  see ; 

The  violet's  hue. 

Reflected  through 

A  drop  of  dew; 

No,  that  won't  do. 

No  semblance  true 
In  ample  nature  can  there  be 
To  equal  their  intensity — 

Their  heavenly  blue. 
T'were  just  as  vain  to  seek, 
Through  every  flower  to  match  thy  glowing  cheek. 

No  gold  could  shed 
Such  radiant  glory  as  ensaints  thy  head. 

Besides,  I  now  remember, 
Your  golden  tresses  are  but  flattered  red. 

And  thine  are  living  amber, 
As,  when  'tis  ripest  through  the  waving  corn, 
The  sunbeams  glance  upon  a  harvest  morn. 

To  the  pale  lustre  of  thy  brow, 
The  lily's  self  perforce  must  bow — 

The  marbles  cold. 

And  very  old ; 
Thy  bosom  as  the  new-fallen  snow 


238  THE      TIPPERARY     VENUS. 

Is  quite 

As  white, 
And  melts  as  soon  with  Love's  warm  glow. 

But  then, 
■\Vhile  that  receives  an  early  stain, 
Thy  purer  bosom  doth  still  pure  remain. 

Since,  to  my  mind, 
I  cannot  find 
A  simile  of  any  kind, 
I  argue  hence 
Thou  art  the  sense 
And  spirit  of  all  excellence  ; 
The  charm-bestowing  fount,  from  whence 

Fate  doti  dispense 
Its  varied  bounties  to  the  fair, 
The  loveliest  of  whom  but  share 
A  portion  of  the  gifts  thou  well  canst  spare. 

It  will  scarcely  be  credited,  that  after  that  brilliant  com- 
pliment to  Polly's  charms,  the  little  jilt,  her  well-fortified 
heart  not  being  assailable  by  Parnassian  pellets,  looked  still 
colder  upon  the  suflfering  perpetrator.  However,  the  per 
severing  nature  of  my  passion — and,  indeed,  it  was  then  a 
real  one — was  not  to  be  set  aside  by  rebuffs.  Again  and 
again  I  returned  to  the  attack,  and,  pen  in  hand,  racked 
my  unfortunate  brains  through  all  the  strategy  of  acrostics; 
birth-day  odes,  and  sonnets.  It  was  not  until  some  time 
afterwards  that  1  discovered  the  real  reason  of  my  ill-suc- 
cess. The  writing  of  the  "  Lines  "  was,  perhaps,  a  pardon- 
able liberty,  but  printing  them  was  atrocious ;  so  that,  in 
fact,  my  unworthy  suppression  of  Rory's  concoctions 
brought  its  own  punishment — not  that  he  was  a  bit  more 
successful  than  I,  for,  as  we  soon  became  sensibly  aware, 


THE     TIPPEEAKT     VENUS.  239 

the  charming,  but  conscienceless  little  coquette  had  even 
more  strings  to  her  bow  than  she  could  conveniently  fiddle 
with  ;  indeed,  that  there  wasn't  a  decent-looking  boy  in  the 
academy  that  she  didn't  encourage,  or  seem  to  encourage, 
so  generalizing  was  her  flirtation  system. 

And,  after  all,  to  decline  upon  foxy  Tom  Gallagher,  the 
more  than  middle-aged  Dispensary  doctor,  a  long,  strag- 
gling, splay-footed  disciple  of  .^culapius,  with  a  head  of 
hair  like  a  door-mat — that  she  has  time  and  again  watched 
and  laughed  her  little  ribs  sore  at,  as  he  shuffled  along  the 
street.     Ah  !  Polly  O'Connor  ! 

But,  allow  me  to  present  to  your  notice  Rory's  poetical 
offering  at  her  inexorable  feet.  It  is,  as  you  may  perceive, 
ambitious,  and,  however  I  might  have  underrated  its  merits 
at  one  time,  I  now  think  it  smacks  somewhat  of  the  old 
Elizabethan  relish. 

Judge  for  yourself : 

Upon  some  sly  affair 

Connubially  dishonest — 
Vide  Lempriere — 

Jupiter  was  no?i  est. 
And  dame  Juno  thought 

Scandal  and  6carte 
Consolation  brought, 

So  gave  a  little  party. 

Soon  the  Grates  three 

Came,  in  evening  dresses, 
Very  fond  of  tea 

They  were,  with  water-cresses. 
Venus  came,  and  son, 

Who  richly  did  deserve  a 
Birching  for  the  fun 

He  made  of  Miss  Minerva. 


240  THE    t:??ebast    vE>ru5. 


1  ■  -      -  -_-■,-  = 


Myr 


iJ  -0.;;  ice,. 

.  :j.  endesTor, 


fiery  manifestations,  hoireTer,  had  not  the  slightest 
apon  the  arctic  natare  of  tiie  &%id  Polly.     To  b« 


THE      TIPPERAET      VENUS.  24:1  ' 

sure,  ter  smile  was  still  "  kindly,  but  frosty,"  to  reverse  the 
Shakespearean  aphorism,  and  as  it  was  dispensed  with  due 
impartiality  amongst  the  entire  school  of  her  admirers, 
none  were  driven  to  immediate  despair,  but  each  flattered 
himself  at  the  time  being  that  he  was  the  favored  one. 
Our  limited  supply  of  pocket-money  was  transmuted  into 
rings  and  brooches,  for  Polly  had  an  inordinate,  or  rather, 
the  usual  predilection  of  her  sex,  for  bijouterie,  and  as  the 
rings  on  trees  denote  the  number  of  years  that  have  rolled 
over  their  leafy  heads,  so  the  corresponding  trophies  upon 
Polly's  taper  fingers,  denoted  the  amount  of  her  victims. 

The  majority  of  her  swains  began,  however,  to  slacken 
in  their  attentions,  finally  dropping  off  one  by  one,  until 
the  course  was  left  to  Rory  and  me — praiseworthy  exam- 
ples of  a  constancy  of  many  months,  although  as  yet  not 
fully  known  to  each  other.  It  was  about  this  time  that 
rumors  besran  to  reach  us  that  old  Tom  Gallao^her,  the  red- 
headed,  rusty-jointed  medico,  was  a  constant,  and  it  was 
hinted,  not  unwelcome  visitor  at  Polly's  father's  house — by 
the  way,  I  forgot  to  mention  that  the  O'Connor,  pere,  was 
the  master  of  a  Charter-house  school  in  the  town,  and  as 
very  a  character  as  such  individuals  almost  invariably  are. 
He  had  originally  been  a  soldier,  so  rough,  unpolished,  and 
uncouth,  that  it  was  a  serious  question  in  the  neighborhood, 
if  pretty  Polly  could  by  any  possibility  be  an  ofl'shoot  from 
such  a  crabbed  stock. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  availability  for  the  partic- 
ular post  assigned  to  favorites  at  court,  was  the  last  thing 
thought  of,  and  the  O'Connor  having  rendered  some  ques- 

11 


242  THE     TIPPEEARY     VENUS. 

tionable  service  to  the  then  government,  either  in  making 
rebels  or  ensnaring  them,  he  was  rewarded  with  the  posi- 
tion he  occupied,  although  he  did  not  possess  a  single 
requisite  for  that  responsible  situation. 

Ignorant  of  the  first  principles  of  education,  he  delegated 
his  task  to  subordinates,  w^hose  capacity  he  was  incompe- 
tent to  judge  of.  His  military  antecedents  made  him  a 
harsh,  unbending  disciplinarian,  and  as  it  was  in  a  routine 
of  which  he  knew  nothing  whatever,  he  felt  it  incumbent 
upon  him  to  make  up  in  severity  and  bluster  for  his  lack 
of  knowledge. 

But  to  return  to  Polly.  When  the  certainty  of  her  pro- 
digious perfidy  reached  me,  I  imagined  myself  a  kind  of 
master  of  Ravenswood,  and  took  to  melancholy  and  light 
food  for  some  days.  Reflection  and  strong  physic,  how- 
ever, soon  restored  me  to  something  like  equanimity,  and, 
becoming  a  little  better  reconciled "  to  the  annoyance  of 
life,  I  rushed  for  consolation  and  revenge  to  the  poet's  cor- 
ner of  the  Tipperary  Gazette.  It  was  then  and  there  thit 
I  produced  the  following  solemn  warning  to  Polly  O'Con- 
nor, and  all  others  of  her  sex,  w^ho,  when  love  and  a  full 
purse  are  weighed  together,  get  into  the  scale  on  the  lucre 
side,  making  poor,  shivering  Cupid  "  kick  the  beam."  It 
was  near  the  14th  of  February,  so,  in  the  savage  expecta- 
tion of  crushing  her  heart  beneath  the  satirical  avalanche, 
I  designated  my  contribution — 


THE     TIPPERARY     VENUS.  2i3 


A  VALENTINE 

FOR  HER  WHO  WILL  UNDERSTAND  IT. 

As  Plutus  one  day,  in  his  chariot  of  gold, 

Was  languidly  taking  the  air, 
Looking,  spite  of  his  riches,  distressingly  old, 

Although  dressed  with  remarkable  care  ; 
He  met  with  young  Cupid,  who,  stayed  in  his  flight 

By  the  wealthy  god's  dazzling  array. 
Hovered  joyously  round  on  his  pinions  of  light, 

Highly  pleased  with  the  tempting  display. 
"  Ride  with  me,"  said  Plutus,  "  all  this  you  may  share  ; 
Ride  with  me,  and  garments  of  gold  you  may  wear." 

Quite  delighted,  the  urchin  stepped  into  the  car, 

Little  deeming  the  roads  were  so  rough  ; 
But,  repenting  his  rashness,  before  he  went  far 

He  cried,  "  Stop  !  I've  been  jolted  enough. 
Pray  excuse  me,  friend  Plutus,  though  rich  be  the  prize 

You  obligingly  offer  to  me. 
Your  i-ealm  is  the  gloomy  earth,  mine  the  bright  skies, 

'Tis  not  likely  that  we  should  agree. 
Farewell,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  mounted  in  air, 
"The  he*t  that  Gold  worships.  Love  never  can  share." 

Having  boldly  appended  my  own  initials  to  this  scarify- 
ing outburst,  I  waited  patiently  to  watch  its  effect  upon 
the  false  one.  In  a  few  days  I  saw  her — she  looked  sad. 
Ha !  she  is  touched,  thought  I ;  and,  alas  for  the  ferocity 
of  human  nature,  I  rejoiced  in  her  apparent  affliction.  In 
a  few  moments,  the  sadness  deepened  on-  her  brow ;  her 
lovely  lashes  became  burdened  with  her  pearly  tears  ;  reso- 
lution, revenge,  injured  feelings,  all  dissolved  into  nothing 
before  the  cruel  shower.     I'm  not  quite  certain  what  im- 


2M  THE     TIPPEEART     VENUS. 

mediatelj  followed.  I  believe  I  flung  myself  enthusiastic- 
ally on  the  carpet,  before  the  Tipperary  Niobe — beseeching 
her  to  repose  her  sorrows  in  my  sympathizing  bosom.  At 
all  events,  I  succeeded  in  calming  her  agitation,  and  after 
a  delicious  inter\aew,  wherein  she  thrilled  my  soul  to  its 
centre  by  the  avowal  that,  however  appearances  might 
convict  her  of  vacillation,  I  was,  ever  had  been,  and  ever 
should  be,  the  sole  lord  of  her  aflections. 

In  that  moment  of  blinding  delirium,  of  course,  all  that 
had  hitherto  occurred  was  blotted  from  my  memory  as 
thoroughly  as  a  damp  sponge  obliterates  the  records  on  a 
tablet  of  ass-skin.  With  the  unreserved  confidence  of  a 
relieved  heart,  she  rested  her  cheek  in  dangerous  proximity 
to  my  eager  lips,  but  I  had  not  suflBcient  courage  to  take 
advantage  of  the  position.  Her  wonderful  eyes  looked 
sincerity  and  love  even  into  the  very  depths  of  my  soul. 
I  was  fascinated — bewildered — doubled  up  and  done  for, 
most  effectually.  "  The  evenings  were  now  beautiful," 
she  hinted,  together  with  remote  allusions  to  "  sofb  twilight's 
balmy  hour,"  setting  suns,  and  such  like  delectations,  until 
I  actually  summoned  up  courage  sufficient  to  make  an  ap- 
pointment to  meet  her 

"By  moonlight  alone." 

Nor  had  she  any  reserve  while  naming  the  particular 
grove  wliere  our  try  sting  was  to  take  place. 

It  was  with  the  proud  port  of  a  conqueror  that  I  deigned 
to  tread  the  vulgar  pavement  after  my  never-to-be-forgot- 
ten  interview   with    the    Circean    Polly  ;   victory  swelled 


THE     TIPPERART     VENTJS.  245 

within  my  expanding  chest,  like  too  much  soup.  Polly 
was  mine ;  what  a  triumph  I  had  achieved.  I  do  verily 
believe,  if,  at  this  juncture,  it  were  at  all  essential,  or  even 
could  be  remotely  conducive  to  Polly's  tranquillity,  that 
I  should  go  through  the  then  popular  amusement  of  hang- 
ing, I  would  have  gone  to  the  halter  with  nearly  as  much 
cheerfulness  as  though  it  were  the  altar ;  but,  fortunately, 
I  was  not  called  upon  to  testify  the  loyalty  of  my  devotion 
by  asphyxiation. 

Rory  and  I,  met  as  usual  that  afternoon,  and  I  remarked 
that  a  sort  of  ill-concealed  joy  was  working  like  an  under- 
current through  his  features — now  he  would  sing  vocife- 
rously ;  anon,  suddenly  subside  into  quiet — it  was  very 
curious — I  determined,  however,  to  discover,  if  possible, 
the  cause  of  his  self-satisfaction. 

"Rory,"  said  I. 

"  Hallo  !"  •     . 

"  What  makes  you  so  silent  ?" 

"  Am  I  silent  ?"  he  replied,  bursting  instantly  into  a 
merry  song. 

"  There's  something  on  your  mind,  at  all  events  ;  that  I 
know." 

"  May-be  there  is ;  but  do  you  know  that's  exactly 
what  I  was  going  to  say  to  you  ?" 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  I  rejoined,  as  demurely  as  I  could,  but 
my  stinging  cheek  betrayed  me. 

"  Why,  how  you  blush,"  he  went  on.  "  Ha !  have  I 
found  you  out  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  I,  in  an  instant  changed 
from  convict  to  criminal. 


24:Q  THE     TIPPEKART      VENUS. 

**  You  have  a  sweetheart." 

"And  so  have  you,"  I  retorted,  as  severely  as  I  could. 

"I  don't  deny  it,"  said  he,  laughing  like  mad. 

"  Neither  do  I,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

Now,  be  it  understood,  we  had  neither  of  us,  as  yet, 
confessed  to  the  other  the  reality  of  the  attachment  we 
had  each  conceived  for  the  di\'ine  Polly. 

"  You  are  really  in  love,  then,  Rory  ?" 

"  Oh  !  don't  mention  it,"  replied  he.  "  Ocean  deep,  my 
boy  ;  fathomless ;  out  of  soundings  one  instant ;  the  next, 
floating  nautilus-like  upon  the  warm,  tranquil  bosom  of  an 
oriental  lake  ;  now,  lifted  upon  the  very  top  wave  of 
lunacy,  to  clutch  at  stars ;  and  sunk  in  the  hollow  depths 
of  dark  despair."  Rory  was  curiously  ornate  in  his  ama- 
tory outbreaks;  "  What  do  you  think  ?"  he  went  on,  with 
a  dash  of  his  hitherto  confidence.  "I  have  been  at  the 
Heliconian  again. 

"  No !" 

"  Upon  my  life !  deep  draughts !  inspiration.  Her 
eyes — oh  I  such  eyes.  You've  seen  them ;  small  heavens, 
with  a  sun  in  each  ;  saw  her  to  day — all  fixed,  my  boj; ; 
she  loves  me—  said  so,  and  yet  my  pulse  didn't  overflow 
and  choke  me ;  heart  in  my  mouth,  to  be  sure — but 
gulped  it  down  again  with  a  ponderous  efibrt;  going  to 
meet  her  to-night,  by  appointment ;  what  do  you  think  of 
that,  my  boy  ?  what  do  you  think  of  that  T' 

Curious  coincidence,  thought  I,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Shall  I  read  you  what  I  have  been  doing  ?"  said  Rory, 
with  a  sliglitly  apologetic  gesture. 

*'Only  too  happy,  of  course,"  said  I,  mentally  anathe- 


THE     TIPPERARY     VENUS.  24T 

matizing  him  for  an  injudicious  bore,  thus  to  parade  his 
flaming  productions  before — ahem  !  a  writer  for  the  press  ; 
but  here  is  Rory's  effusion  ;  he  gave  me  a  copy. 

"  You  must  know,"  he  premised,  "  that  I  had  some  mis- 
givings about  a  certain  elderly  codger,  whom  I  frequently 
discovered  in  tantalizing  companionship  with  my  beloved ; 
hence  my  Valentine  is  a  little  suggestive." 

More  curious  coincidences,  said  something  within  me, 
striking  upon  the  ear  of  my  heart  rather  alarmingly ;  but 
the  great  pacificator,  conceit,  soon  quelled  the  emotion, 
and  I  was  all  absorbed  in  self  love  and  delicious  antici- 
pations, when  Rory  cleared  his  throat,  and  read 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

As  Cupid  one  day,  with  his  quiver  well  stored, 

Fluttered  round,  upon  wickedness  bent, 
Right  and  left,  his  insidious  love-messengers  poured, 
And  hearts  by  the  hundred  were  shamefully  scored, 

To  the  mischievous  archer's  content. 
Till  at  last  he  encountered  King  Death  on  his  way, 

Whose  arrows  more  fatally  flew. 
In  vain  did  the  emulous  urcliin  display 
All  his  arts,  his  companion  stiU  carried  the  day,  » 

For  his  shafts  were,  as  destiny,  true. 

Boy  Cupid,  annoyed  at  the  other's  success. 

Invoked  cousin  Mercury's  aid. 
Who,  having  for  mischief  a  talent  no  less, 
Changed  their  quivers,  so  featly  that  neither  could  guesa. 

Such  complete  transposition  were  made. 
The  result,  up  to  this  very  hour  you  may  see, 

For  when  very  old  folk  feel  love's  smart, 
Cupid's  arrow  by  Death  surely  missioned  must  be ; 
But  when  youth  in  its  loveliness  sinks  to  decay, 

Death's  quiver  doth  furnish  the  dart. 


248  THE     TIPPEEABY     VENUS. 

Here  was  a  startling  resemblance,  with  a  vengeance  ; 
in  spite  of  my  new-fledged  confidence,  and  the  unmistaka- 
bly excellent  opinion  I  entertained  of  number  one,  I  began 
to  f(?el  somewhat  nervous. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  ?"  said  Rory,  evidently  nettled  at 
my  inattention. 

"I  don't  like  it  all." 

"Eh!" 

"  I  don't  mean  that ;  I  mean — the  poetry  is  superb — 
lovely — but " — 

"  But  what  ?  you  are  laboring  to  give  vent  to  some- 
thing, evidently — out  with  it,  man,"  Rory  continued, 
moodily. 

"  Well,  then,  since  you  press  me,"  said  I,  "  I  certainly 
have  my  misgivings." 

''And  what  about,  pray?" 

"  May  I  venture  to  ask  who  the  elderly  person  is,  at 
whom  your  allegory  is  directed  ?" 

"  I  have  no  objection  at  all,"  Rory  replied,  "  if  you  give 
me  your  word  you  won't  mention  it  again." 

"  Honor  bright." 

"  Well,  then,  it's  old  Tom  Gallagher,  the  saw-bones." 

Oh  !  my  internal  machinery  ceased  working,  for  an 
instant ;  had  I  a  girl's  privilege,  I  should  have  fainted  out- 
right ;  it  was  a  shock ;   a  stunning  one,  and  no  mistake. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  inquired  Rory,  seeing 
me  gasp  like  a  fresh-caught  perch. 

"  Oh  !  Rory,"  I  cried,  grasping  his  hand  with  the  sudden 
affection  that  similarity  of  misfortune    always  instigates. 


THE     TIPPERARY     VENUS.  249 

**  Rory,  my  friend,  did  you  see  my  Valentine  in  the  Tippe- 
rary  OazetteP'' 

"  Yes,  and  liked  it,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  sincerity ;  "  but 
who  was  Plutus?" 

"  By  all  that's  excruciating,  old  Tom  Gallagher." 

Rory  turned  as  pale  as  a  turnip. 

"And  the  confounded  little  coquette  who  bamboozled 
you  to  day,"  I  continued,  courageously,  despite  of  Rory's 
dark  frown,  "  and  who  conglomerated  my  reasoning  faculties 
in  the  same  way,  was  Miss  Polly  O'Connor." 

It  was  now  Rory's  turn  to  have  his  mechanism  bothered. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  whispered,  tremblingly. 

"  I  mean,"  said  I,  "  that  this  very  morning.  Miss  Polly 
O'Conner  swore  as  binding  an  oath  as  ever  flashed  out  of 
a  pair  of  eyes,  or  was  sealed  upon  a  pair  of  lips,  that  I  was 
to  have  the  fee  simple  of  her  heart  for  life,  and  to  settle 
the  affair,  we  are  to  meet  this  evening,  at  eight  o'clock,  in 
Duffy's  borieen,  at  the  little  stile  leading  into  Murphy's 
lane." 

"  Just  the  spot,  and  just  the  time,  by  Jove,  that  1  was  to 
be  there  for  the  same  purpose,"  cried  Rory,  gnashing  his 
teeth  in  a  biting  rage. 

For  a  few  moments,  we  stood  silently  regarding  each 
other,  and  at  last,  broke  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughter ; 
it  was  what  old  Tom  himself,  confound  his  coppery  heart, 
would  call  "  the  crisis  ;"  we  were  cured — not  immediately, 
however — the  dangerous  point  was  passed — time  and  low 
diet  did  the  rest. 

Tho  i nil  11  man  little  savage  confessed,  shortly  after,  that 
11* 


250  THE     TIPPERART     VENUS. 

sbe  had  adopted  that  nefarious  plan,  in  order  that,  hf 
meeting  together,  we  might — how,  she  didn't  care — come 
to  some  explanation  with  regard  to  the  duality  of  our 
attachment,  and  the  double  duplicity  of  our  Tipperary 
Venus. 

And  now  to  return — it's  a  long  way  back,  but  never 
mind.  I'm  riding  an  old  hack ;  few  that's  used  to  such 
journej^s.  To  my  fii'st  intention  ;  that  is,  to  illustrate  the 
position  in  Fairydom  of  the  Leprechaun. 

It  is  one  Rory's  wild  tales,  and,  as  it  mightily  interested 
me — to  be  sure,  I  was  young  at  the  time — I  trust,  gentle 
reader,  it  may  not  prove  entirely  devoid  of  attraction  for 
you.    . 

In  the  little  \dllage  of  Templeneiry,  situated  at  the  base 
of  one  of  the  Galtee  mountains,  whose  summit  looks  down 
upon  the  diminutive  hamlet  from  the  altitude  of  two  thous- 
and feet,  there  dwelt  a  very  celebrated  and  greatly-sought- 
after  individual,  one  Terry  Magra,  the  Piper ;  there  wasn't 
apathern,  fair,  wake,  wedding,  or  merriment  of  any 
description,  for  miles  round,  in  which  he  and  his  dhrones 
were  not  called  into  requisition  :  there  wasn't  a  performer 
on  that  noisy,  but  much-loved  instrument,  that  could  at  all 
compare  with  Terry;  it  was  solemnly  asserted,  indeed, 
that  his  superiority  was  the  result  of  fairy  agency  ;  a  belief 
which  he  was  not  unwilling  to  foster  and  encourage,  inas- 
much, as  it  gave  him  a  wonderful  importance  among  the 
superstitious  peasantry. 

Now,  with  grief  it  must  be  recorded,  Terry  was  too 
much  addicted   to  the   almost   national   failing,   that   of 


THE     TIPPEKARY      VENUS.  251 

intoxication.  Whisky  was  to  him  the  universal  panacea  j 
did  his  sweetheart,  and  he  had  plenty  of  them,  frown  upon 
his  tender  suit,  whisky  banished  the  mortification  ;  was  his 
rent  in  arrear,  and  no  sign  of  anything  turning  up,  whisky 
wiped  off  the  account,  instanter;  did  all  the  ill-omened 
birds  that  tlock  around  the  head  of  poverty,  assail  him, 
he  fired  a  stiif  tumbler  of  whisky  punch  at  them,  and  they 
dispersed. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  a  jolly  vagabond,  reckless,  and 
variegated  life,  that  of  Terry  Magra  ;  his  supernatural 
reputation,  together  with  the  general  belief  in  the  positive 
existence  of  fairies,  entertained  by  the  community  in  which 
he  exercised  his  pleasant  vocation,  rendering  him  a  fit  sub- 
ject to  receive  any  spiritual  impression,  howsoever  removed 
from  the  common  course  of  events. 

It  was  one  moonlight  night  that  Terry,  after  having 
attended  a  grand  festival  in  the  neighborhood,  brought  up, 
as  was  his  usual  custom,  at  a  Sheebieen  house,  where  a 
few  seasoned  old  casks,  like  himself,  invariably  "topped 
ofi" "  with  a  round  of  throat-raspers ;  here  he  was  the  Sir 
Oracle ;  the  lord  of  the  soil  himself — did  they  ever  see 
him,  which  was  not  at  all  probable,  for,  upon  the  means 
wrung  by  his  agents  from  the  poor  wretches,  by  Providence 
delegated  to  his  care — those  same  agents,  by  the  way, 
managing  to  squeeze  out  a  comfortable  per-centage  for 
themselves — he  lives  in  London.  The  lord  of  the  soil,  as 
I  said,  could  not  be  served  with  readier  obedience,  or 
listened  to  with  more  profound  attention. 

The  roaring  song,  and  joke,  and  fun  abounded  upon  this 


252  THE     TIPPEBAKY     VENUS. 

occasion,  and  Terry  improvised  so  wild  and  inspiriting  a 
strain  upon  his  famous  pipes,  that  it  was  generally  conce- 
ded, with  enthusiasm  tinctured  with  awe,  that  no  mortal 
hand  could  have  produced  such  astounding  music. 

At  length,  the  sleepy  proprietor  of  the  place  put  a  sud- 
den end  to  the  jollification,  by  stopping  the  supplies,  the 
only  way  in  which  the  Widow  Brady — for  Fm  sorry  to  say 
it  was  a  woman,  and  a  decent-looking  one  too,  who  pre- 
sided over  this  Pandora's  box,  where  Hope  forever  lies  im- 
prisoned— could  break  up  the  party. 

Terry,  after  vainly  endeavoring  to  mollify  the  widow, 
gathered  up  his  magic  pipes,  and  sallied  forth.  Adieus 
were  exchanged ;  friendly  hugs,  and  protestations  of  eter- 
nal friendship  passed  between  the  stammering,  roaring 
crowd,  to  be  ratified  hereafter,  it  might  be,  by  a  crack  on 
the  skull  from  a  tough  alpieen.  At  last  they  separated, 
each  to  find,  as  he  could,  his  way  home  by  the  devious 
light  of  a  clouded  moon. 

Now,  Terry  lived  a  smart  way  up  the  mountain,  and  so, 
with,  as  he  said,  "  the  sense  fairly  bilin'  in  him  everywhere 
but  his  murdherin'  legs,"  that  persisted  in  carrying  him  in 
the  opposite  direction  to  that  which  his  intention  pointed, 
the  contest  between  his  will  and  his  locomotive  powers 
making  his  course  somewhat  irregular — our  bold  piper 
proceeded  on  his  way,  humming  snatches  of  songs,  and 
every  now  and  then,  by  way  of  diversion,  waking  the  echoes 
by  a  fierce  blast  from  his  "  chanter." 

Whether  Terry  resorted  to  these  means  for  the  purpose 
of  keeping  his  courage  from  slumbering  within  his  breast, 


THE     TIPPEKART     VENUS.  253 

I  know  not ;  but,  inasmuch  as  the  ground  he  was  traversing 
had  a  general  fairy  repute,  I  think  it  more  than  likely  that, 
notwithstanding  the  whisky-valor  with  which  he  had  armed 
himself,  it  was  not  without  considerable  trepidation  he 
endeavored  to  make  his  way  through  the  enchanted  pre- 
cincts. 

There  was  one  isolated  mound,  which  tradition  had  pos- 
itively marked  as  a  favorite  resort  of  the  *'  good  people," 
and  as  Terry  neared  it,  apprehension  smote  against  his 
heart  lustily.  For  the  first  time,  he  faltered.  The  moon, 
which  had  hitherto  seemed  to  light  him  famously,  shot 
suddenly  behind  a  dense,  black  cloud,  and  Terry  thought 
that  blindness  had  fallen  upon  him,  so  black  did  everything 
appear.  At  the  same  moment,  a  gust  of  wind  shook  the 
crisp  leaves  of  the  aspen  trees,  with  a  noise  like  the  rattling 
of  dry  bones,  that  sunk  into  his  very  soul.  He  was  fright- 
ened— he  couldn't  go  a  step  further.  Down  on  his  knees 
he  fell,  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and,  as  a  last  resource, 
tried  to  collect  himself  sufficiently  to  mutter  through  the 
form  of  exorcisement  used  by  the  peasantry  in  similar 
emergencies.  To  his  horror  he  discovered  that  he  couldn't 
remember  a  syllable  of  the  matter.  He  resorted  to  his 
prayers,  but  his  traitor-memory  deserted  him  there  also. 

Now  his  perturbation  and  dismay  increased,  for  he  knew 
by  those  signs  that  he  was  "  fairy-struck."  There  was  no- 
thing left  him  but  to  run  for  it ;  but,  to  his  yet  greater  ter- 
ror, on  endeavoring  to  rise  from  his  knees,  he  found  him- 
self rooted  to  the  ground  like  a  tree  ;  not  a  muscle  could 
he  move.    Then — as  he  described  it — 


254:  THE      TIPPEKAKY      VENUS. 

"  The  fairy  bells  rung  like  mad  inside  of  me  skull.  The 
very  brains  of  me  was  twisted  about,  as  a  washerwoman 
twists  a  wet  rag ;  somethin'  hit  me  a  bat  on  the  head,  an' 
down  I  dropped,  as  dead  as  a  herrin'." 

When  Terry  came  to  himself  .again,  the  darkness  had 
vanished,  and  the  whole  scene  was  glowing  with  the  mel- 
low softness*of  an  eastern  morning.  The  atmosphere  was 
imbued  with  a  delicious  warmth,  while  a  subdued  crimson 
haze  hung  between  earth  and  sky.  The  common  road- 
stones  looked  like  lumps  of  heated  amber.  The  very  dew- 
drops  on  the  grass  glittered  like  rubies,  while  the  noisy 
little  mountain-fall,  where  it  broke  white  against  the  rocks, 
flashed  and  sparkled  in  the  rosy  light,  like  jets  of  liquid 
gold,  filling  the  air  with  living  gems. 

"  Be  jabers,  an'  this  is  Fairy-land,  sure  enough,"  said 
Terry  ;  "  an'  if  the  little  blaggards  has  got  anything  agin' 
me,  it's  in  a  murdherin'  bad  box  I  am,  .the  divil  a  doubt  of 
it.  I've  nothin'  for  it,  anyway,  but  to  take  it  aisy."  So  he 
sat  upon  a  large  stone  on  the  wayside,  and  gazed  with 
intense  admiration  on  the  lovely  scene  before  him,  inly 
wondering  what  kind  of  demonstration  the  inhabitants  of 
this  enchanted  spot  would. make  when  they  discerned  his 
audacious  intrusion. 

Several  minutes  had  elapsed,  and  Terry  heard  nothing 
but  a  small,  musical  hum,  barely  discernible  by  the  sense, 
which  every  warm  current  of  air  caused  to  rise  and  fall 
upon  his  charmed  ear,  in  undulations  of  dreamy  melody. 
Suddenly,  however,  his  attention  was  directed  towards  a 
fallen  leaf,  which  some  vagrant  breeze  appeared  to  toss  to 


T  U  E     T  I  P  r  E  K  A  R  Y      VENUS.  255 

and  fro  in  merry  play.  For  a  long  time  he  watched  its 
eccentric  movements,  until  at  last  a  gust  of  wind  lifted  it 
up,  and  whirling  it  round  and  round  in  circling  eddies, 
dropped  it  on  the  piece  of  rock  where  he  was  sitting. 

Now  Terry  perceived  a  multitude  of  tiny  creatures,  ant- 
like, busied  around  the  still  fluttering  leaf,  and  on  stooping 
to  examine  them  closely,  his  heart  leaped  like  a  living 
thing  within  his  bosom,  his  breath  came  short  and  gasping, 
and  his  tongue  clove  to  his  palate. 

"  There  they  are,  an'  no  mistake,"  thought  he  ;  "  an'  my 
time  is  come.  May  the  blessed  saints  stand  betune  me  an 
harm." 

The  crowds  of  atomies  which  he  had  supposed  to  be 
ants,  were  beings  of  the  most  exquisite  human  form ;  anon, 
the  air  grew  thick  with  them.  Some,  winged  like  butter- 
flies, disported  around  his  head,  and  alighted  upon  his 
garments,  pluming  their  bejewelled  pinions  and  then  dart- 
ing oflf  again. 

"  It's  mighty  quare  that  they  don't  give  me  a  hint  that 
I'm  out  of  me  element,"  thought  Terry,  as,  emboldened 
by  their  passiveness,  he  gently  took  the  leaf  up  in  his 
hand,  on  which  were  dozens  of  them  yet  clustered ;  he 
held  the  fairy-laden  leaf  up  to  his  eyes ;  still  they  kept 
gambolling  about  it ;  they  overrun  his  fingers,  and  clam- 
bered up  his  sleeve,  but  no  intimation  did  they  give  that 
Terry  was  of  other  material  than  one  of  the  rocks  by 
which  they  were  surrounded ;  they  invaded  his  face, 
examined  his  mouth,  and  peered  into  his  eyes,  yet  there 
was  no  indication  that  his  presence  was  acknowledged. 


256  THETIPPERARY     VENUS. 

Resolving  to  test  the  matter  at  once,  with  an  effort  of 
courage,  he  rose  up  gradually,  and  looked  around  him ; 
all  was  quiet 

''  If  any  thing  will  make  them  spake,  the  pipes  will," 
said  he,  bravely,  and  so,  filling  his  chanter,  he  gave  one 
preliminary  blast,  and  finding  that  it  met  with  no  response, 
save  from  the  distant  echoes,  that  sent  it  sweeping  back 
in  multiplied  reverberations,  he  commenced  to  play  one 
of  his  most  lauded  planxtys ;  never  had  he  satisfied  him- 
self better,  but  never  had  he  exerted  himself  before  a  more 
unappreciative*  assembly  ;  the  universal  fun  and  frolic  went 
on  as  before. 

His  artistic  self-love  was  sadly  wounded.  "  The  divil 
such  a  lot  of  stupid  fairies  did  I  ever  hear  tell  of,"  said  he, 
throwing  down  his  pipes  in  disgust.  "An'  bad  luck 
attend  the  grunt  more  yez'll  get  out  o'  me ;  such  elegant 
music  as  I've  been  threaten  yez  wid,  an'  the  never,  an  ear 
cocked  among  the  lot  of  yez." 

"  A  thin,  Misther  Terry  Magra,"  said  the  smallest  possi 
ble  kind  of  a  voice,  but  which  thrilled  through  the  pipei 
as  though  it  were  thunder-loud.  "  Shure,  an'  you're  not 
goin'  to  concate  that  it's  music  you've  been  tearin'  out  ov 
them  tree-stumps  of  yours  ;  be  the  powers  of  war,  it's  a 
tom-cat  I  thought  you  wor  squeezin'  undher  yer  arms." 

"  Thank  you,  kindly,  yer  honor,  for  the  compliment, 
whoever  you  are,"  replied  Terry,  when,  on  turning  round 
to  the  quarter  from  whence  the  voice  proceeded,  he  saw, 
sitting  on  the  branch  of  a  tree  beside  him,  a  diminutive 
piper,  in  all  respects  a  perfect  resemblance  to  himself; 


THE     TIPPEKAKY      VENUS.  257 

dressed  in  similar  garments,  even  to  the  dilapidated  cau- 
bieen,  with  an  atom  of  a  dhudieen  stuck  in  it ;  but  what 
elicited  his  admiration  most  of  all,  was  the  weeny  set  of 
pipes  the  swaggering  little  rufHan  carried  on  his  arm. 

"  Your  soul  to  glory,"  cried  Terry,  his  excitement  com- 
pletely mastering  his  apprehension.  "An'  if  you  can 
blow  any  music  out  of  them,  I'll  give  in  soon  an'  sud- 
dent." 

"  Howld  yer  prate,  you  ugly  man,  an'  bad  Christian," 
cried  the  little  fellow ;  "  sure,  an'  it's  plinty  of  help  I'll 
have ;"  with  that,  he'll  put  the  bellows  under  his  arm,  and 
blew  a  blast  that  sounded  like  the  whistle  of  a  tom-tit  in 
distress  ;  a  signal  which  w^as  quickly  answered  by  similar 
sounds,  issuing  from  all  directions ;  and  very  soon  Terry 
saw  groups  of  little  pipers  climbing  up  the  tree  until  the 
branch  was  fairly  alive  with  them,  each  one  an  exact 
counterpart  of  the  first.- 

"  May  I  never  sin  if  the  sowls  of  all  the  Terry  Magras, 
past,  present,  an'  to  come,  ain't  to  the  fore,  it's  my  belief, 
this  minnit,"  said  the  piper,  in  an  ecstasy  of  amazement. 

"  We  must  graize  our  elbows  before  we  begin,  boys,'* 
said  Terry's  friend,  producing  a  fairy  bottle. 

"  Here's  your  health,  Misther  Terry  Magra,"  says  the 
little  vagabond,  with  a  ghost  of  a  laugh  ;  and  up  went  the 
bottle  to  his  head. 

"Here's  your  health,  Misther  Terry  Magra,"  they  all 
repeated,  as  the  real  mountain  dew  went  merrily  round. 

"  Faix,  an'  it's  glad  enough  I'd  be  to  return  thanks  for 
the  favor,"  said  Terry,  "  if  it's  a  thing  that  I  had  a  toothful 


258  THE     TIPPEKAKY     VENUS. 

of  sperrits  to  join  yez  in  ;  more,  betoken,  I'm  as  drouthy  a3 
a  sand-baor  this  blessed  hour." 

o 

"  Never  be  it  said  that  a  dhiy  Christian  should  keep 
cotton  in  his  mouth,  while  we  can  give  him  a  dhrop  to 
■wash  it  out,"  said  the  little  piper,  throwing  his  bottle  at 
Terry. 

"Bedad,  it's  a  dhrop,  sure  enough,  that  I'll  be  suckin' 
out  of  this,"  said  Terry,  as  he  regarded  the  tiny  atom  that 
rested  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "  Bad  'cess  to  me,  if  a 
scooped-out  duck-shot  wouldn't  howld  more  nourishment. 
I'm  obleeged  to  you  for  your  good  intentions,  any  way,  but 
T  b'leeve  I  won't  'be  robbin'  you  this  time." 

"  Don't  be  refusin'  your  liquor,  you  fool,"  said  the  piping 
little  chap,  with  a  wicked  look  out  of  his  mites  of  eyes. 
"  I'll  be  bound  that  §uch  liquor  never  tickled  your  throat 
before." 

"  Well,  rather  than  appear  onfriendly,  I'll  just  go 
through  the  motions  ;  so  here's  jolly  good  luck  to  yez  all," 
said  Terry,  raising  the  pellet-like  material  to  his  lips, 
when,  to  his  intense  satisfaction  and  wonder,  his  mouth 
instantly  filled  up,  and  run  over,  with  a  perfect  flood  of 
such  w^hisky  as  he  owned  never  yet  had  blessed  his  palate ; 
again  and  again  he  repeated  the  experiment,  and  with  the 
like  delicious  result. 

"  Hollo  !  there,  give  me  back  my  bottle,  you  thief  of  the 
world ;  would  you  ruin  us,  entirely  ?"  cried  the  little 
piper.  "  If  the  blaggard  wouldn't  drink  the  say  dhry,  I'm 
not  here." 

"  By  the  sowl  of  me  mother,"  said  Terry,  with  a  loud 


THE     TIPPEEARY      VENUS.  259 

smack  of  enjoyment,  "  if  the  say  was  made  of  such  stuft'  as 
that,  may  I  never,  if  I  wouldn't  change  places  wid  a  mer- 
maid's husband,  and  flourish  a  fish's  tail  all  the  days  of  my 
life." 

"  But  this  has  nothiu'  to  do  concarnin'  the  music,"  says 
the  fairy,  "  so,  here  goes  to  show  you  how  much  you  know 
about  huraorin'  the  pipes."  So  saying,  the  whole  army  of 
pipers  set  up  a  chant,  so  small,  and  yet  so  exquisitely  sweet 
and  harmonious,  that  Terry  scarcely  dared  to  breathe,  for 
fear  of  losinor  the  slio-htest  echo  of  such  bewitchino-  strains. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?"  inquired  the  little  fellow, 
when  they  had  finished. 

"  Say  to  it,"  cried  Terry,  flinging  his  hat  upon  the  ground 
in  an  ecstasy  of  delight ;  "  what  the  mischief  can  I  say  ? 
Bedad,  there  never  was  a  mortial  had  the  concate  so  com- 
plately  licked  out  o'  him  as  it's  been  deludhed  out  o'  me  at 
this  present  writin,  an'  to  make  my  words  good,  av  there 
was  a  bit  of  fire  near,  if  I  wouldn't  make  cindhers  of  that 
murdherin'  ould  catherwauler  ov  mine,  I'm  a  grasshopper." 

"  It  does  you  credit  to  own  up  to  it  so  readily,  Terry 
Magra,"  said  the  head  fairy,  pleased  enough  at  the  compli- 
ment. "  An',  by  the  way  of  rewardin'  you  for  that  same, 
we'll  give  you  a  blast  of  another  sort."  With  that  they 
turned  to  and  exeeuted  a  jig-tune,  so  swiftly-fingered,  so 
lively  and  irresistibly  .so^e-inspiring,  that,  with  a  wild 
scream  of  delight,  Terry  whipped  ofi"  his  great  coat,  and 
jumping  on  the  level  rock,  went  through  the  varied  com- 
plications of  the  most  intricate  description  of  Irish  dance.  • 

"  Murdher  alive,  av  I  only  had  a  partner  now,"  he  cried. 


260  THE     TIPPESAEY     VENUS. 

"Such  elegant  music,  an'  only  one  to  be  enjoyin*  it." 
Faster  and  faster  played  the  fairy  pipers,  and  yet  more 
madly  Terry  beat  time  upon  the  stone,  making  the  moun- 
tains resound  to  his  vociferous  shouts,  until  exhausted  at 
last,  he  jumped  oflf,  and  sunk  panting  on  the  ground. 

"  Oh !  tear  arC  aigers .'"  he  cried,  "  an'  av  yez  have  a 
grain  of  compassion  in  thim  insignificant  tiniments  of 
yours,  fairies,  darlin',  won't  yez  lend  us  the  loan  of  a  pull 
out  of  that  same  bit  of  a  bottle,  for  it's  the  seven  senses 
that  you've  fairly  batthered  out  o'  me  wid  that  rattlin'  leg- 
teazer  of  a  chune." 

"  Wid  a  heart  an'  a  half,  my  hayro !''  said  the  little 
piper,  flinging  Terry  the  fairy -bottle  ;  "  it's  you  that  has 
the  parliaminthary  unction  for  the  creather,  if  ever  a  sowl 
had.  Don't  be  afeard  of  it,  it  won't  hurt  a  feather  of  you, 
no  more  nor  wather  on  a  duck's  back." 

Thus  encouraged,  Terry  lifted  his  elbow  considerably,  be- 
fore he  thought  it  prudent  to  desist,  the  fairy  liquor  ap- 
pearing more  delicious  with  each  gulp,  when,  all  at  once — 
for  Terry  had  a  tolerable  share  of  acuteness  for  a  piper — 
the  thought  struck  him  that  the  little  schemers  might  have 
a  motive  in  thus  plying  him  with  such  potential  stuff. 

"  If  you're  at  all  inclined  for  a  nap,  Terry,  my  boy,'* 
said  the  fairy,  blandly,  "  there's  a  lovely  bank  of  moss  for- 
nent  you,  that'll  beat  the  best  feather-bed  at  the  Globe  Inn, 
in  the  town  of  Clonmel.  Stretch  yourself  on  it,  aroon^  an' 
we'll  keep  watch  over  you  as  tindherly  as  av  your  own 
mother  was  hangin'  over  yer  cradle." 

"  IIo  !  ho  !  is  it  there  yez  are,  you  sootherin'  vagabonds,'* 


THE     TIPPEKARY     VENUS.  261 

said  Terry  to  himself.  "  It's  off  o'  my  guard  you  want  to 
ketch  me,  eh  ?"  He  was  determined,  however,  to  diploma- 
tize, so  he  replied,  with  equal  politeness,  "  It's  thankful  that 
I  am  to  yer  honors  for  the  invite,  but  I  wouldn't  be  makin* 
such  a  hole  in  my  manners  as  to  let  a  wink  come  on  me 
in  such  iligant  company." 

"  Oh,  well,  just  as  you  like,  Terry  Magra,"  observed  the 
fairy,  with  just  enough  of  lemon  in  his  tone  to  convince 
Terry  that  his  surmise  was  correct.  "At  all  events,  if 
you're  not  sleepy  now,  you  soon  will  be,"  the  little  fellow 
continued,  "so,  when  you  are,  you  will  lie  down  without 
fear.  In  the  meantime,  we  must  go  and  inform  our  king 
how  famously  we've  amused  you,  and  what  a  fine  fellow 
you  are."  So  saying,  with  a  sharp  little  squeal  of  a  laugh, 
that  Terry  thought  carried  with  it  a  sufficiency  of  sarcasm, 
the  little  piper  and  his  companions  rapidly  descended  from 
their  perch,  and  vanished  from  his  sight. 

No  sooner  had  they  departed  when  Terry's  ears  w«re 
saluted  by  a  singularly  delightful  buzzing  noise,  that,  in 
spite  of  his  endeavor  to  resist  it,  caused  a  growing  drowsi- 
ness to  steal  over  him.  The  declining  daylight  deepened 
into  a  still  more  roseate  hue.  Once  or  twice  his  eyelids 
drooped,  but  he  recovered  himself  with  a  vigorous  effort. 

"  By  the  ghost  of  Moll  Kelly,"  he  cried,  "  I'm  a  lost 
mutton,  as  sure  as  eggs  is  chickens,  if  the  sleep  masthers 
me  ;  the  pipes  is  my  only  chance."  So  saying,  he  shook 
off  the  slumberous  sensation,  and,  seizing  the  instrument, 
blazed  out  into  a  stormy  attack  upon  "  Garry owen,"  and, 
sure  enough,  something  like  a  distant  groan,  as  of  disap- 


262  THE     TIPPERART      VENUS. 

pointment,  reached  liim  at  the  very  first  snore  of  the 
chanter. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  it  isn't  an  omadhaun  all  out 
yez  has  to  dale  wid  this  time,  you  little  rascals,  as  cunnin' 
as  ye  think  yerselves.  Bedad,  it  won't  do  me  any  harm  to 
make  use  of  my  eyes  hereabouts;  who  knows  but  I  may 
light  atop  of  a  fairy  threasure,  and  drive  the  imptiness  out 
of  my  pocket  for  ever  and  ever." 

With  this  determination,  the  bold  piper  proceeded  to 
investigate  the  character  of  the  ground  in  his.  immediate 
neighborhood.  For  a  short  time  he  saw  nothing  remarkable 
except  the  circumstance  of  the  Avhole  surroundings  being 
alive  with  fairies,  to  whose  presence  he  was  becoming  more 
and  more  habituated ;  occasionally  he  would  pause  in  his 
search  to  view  with  admiration  the  energetic  way  in  which 
a  group  of  workers  attended  to  their  specific  duties.  Ob- 
serving at  one  time  a  more  than  usual  commotion,  he  was 
led  to  give  the  affair  particular  scrutiny,  when  he  discov- 
ered that  it  was  the  scene  of  a  most  animated  contest  be- 
tween two  distinct  bodies  of  supernaturals. 

An  infant  lily-of-the-valley  was  just  raising  its  head 
above  the  yielding  earth,  softened  and  broken  to  assist  its 
upward  progress,  by  scores  of  busy  atomies.  Numbers 
showered  its  tender  leaf  w^ith  refreshing  dew — procured,  as 
Terry  observed,  by  plunging  into  the  hollow  cup  of  some 
sturdy  neighboring  flower,  then  flying  back  to  their  charge, 
and  shaking  the  nutritious  drops  from  their  wings — others, 
with  mechanical  ingenuity,  held  glasses  by  which  they 
could  concentrate  the   passing   sunbeams  upon  the  spot, 


THE     TIPPERARY     YENUS.  263 

when  necessary  ;  while  others  drove  there  with  their  united 
pinions  the  stray  breezes,  whose  invigorating  breath  was 
needed. 

While  Terry  was  rapt  in  the  delightful  contemplation 
of  this  curious  scene,  all  at  once  he  saw  that  there  was 
something  of  uncommon  interest  going  on  amongst  the 
crowd.  He  observed,  in  the  first  instance,  that  although 
the  labor  was  not  for  a  moment  suspended,  yet  a  solid  pha- 
lanx of  armed  fairies  had  formed  about  the  immediate 
workers.  The  reason  was  soon  obvious,  for,  careering 
round  and  round,  or  darting  to  and  fro  in  zigzag  courses 
almost  as  swiftly  as  the  lightning  itself,  was  an  enormous 
dragon-fly,  carrying  on  its  glistening  back  a  diminutive 
form  of  a  brilliant  green  color,  that  flashed  in  the  glancing 
light  like  living  emerald.  Wherever  there  was  a  tender 
young  plant  there  its  fierce  attack  was  directed,  and  in  all 
cases  repelled  by  the  brave  little  guardians. 

This  terrible  monster — as  it  appeared  even  in  Terry's 
eyes,  when  compared  with  the  tiny  creatures  that  sur- 
rounded him — seemed  to  have  singled  out  the  fragile  lily- 
of-the-valley  for  its  especial  ferocity,  for  again  and  again  it 
darted  furiously  against  the  unyielding  defenders,  only, 
however,  to  be  repulsed  at  each  charge,  writhing  and  twist- 
ing its  snaky  body,  punctured  by  the  thorn-bayonets  of  the 
fairy-guard. 

The  indomitable  courage  and  resolution  of  the  defence 
at  length  prevailed,  and  after  a  last  ineffectual  effort  to 
break  through  the  chevaux-de-frise  that  protected  the  be- 
leaguered flower,  the  dreadful  enemy  wheeled  angrily  two 


264  THE     TIPTERARY     VENUS. 

or  three  times  around  the  spot,  and  at  length  darted 
upwards  rapidly,  and  disappeared,  to  the  manifest  delight  of 
the  fairies.  Soon,  however,  a  yet  more  formidable  danger 
threatened,  for  in  the  distance  there  approached  a  gigantic 
snail,  dragging  its  noxious  slime  over  every  thing  in  its  de- 
structive path.  Terry  now  observed  evidences  of  the  most 
intense  solicitude  and  perturbation.  The  guard  around  the 
flower  was  trebled,  scouts  seemed  to  be  called  in  from  all 
quarters,  hastening  to  a  common  rendezvous.  Meantime 
the  snail  moved  on  in  a  direct  line  with  the  object  of  their 
care  and  anxiety. 

"  Now  my  fine  fellows,"  said  Terry,  completely  absorbed 
in  the  interesting  scene, "  how  the  mischief  are  yez  goir^ 
to  manage  that  customer  ?" 

Nearer  and  nearer  crawled  the  snail,  and  at  every  on- 
ward movement  the  little  crowd  grew  more  agitated,  scam- 
pering here  and  there,  and  overrunning  each  other  in  a  per- 
fect agony  of  apprehension  and  excitement,  like  a  disturbed 
colony  of  ants.  Multitudes  of  them  cleared  the  small 
stumps  of  decayed  grass,  and  rolled  off  the  pebbles  from  a 
side  path,  in  the  hope  of  diverting  Mr.  Snail's  course  ;  but 
their  engineering  skill  was  fruitless — still  on  he  came, 
crushing  every  delicate  germ  in  his  progress.  He  was  now 
only  about  six  inches  away  from  the  lily,  and  the  trepida- 
tion of  the  fairies  became  so  excessive,  that  it  smote  upon 
Terry's  heart.  He  forgot  for  a  moment  or  two  that  he 
himself  was  the  arbiter  of  their  fate. 

"Mother  o'  Moses,"  said  he  ;  "  it's  afeared  I  am  that  yez 
goin'  to  get  the  worst  of  the  fight,  this  time ;  heigh !  at 


THE     TIPPERART      VENUS.  265 

him  agin,  yer  sowls,"  he  shouted,  clapping  his  hands  by 
way*of  encouragement,  as  a  crowd  would  try  to  push  the 
snail  from  the  direct  path. 

"Where's  yer  sinse,  you  little  blaggards?  why  don't 
yez  all  get  together,  and  you'd  soon  tumble  the  murdherin' 
Turk  over." 

Despair  seemed  to  be  spreading  through  the  fairy  ranks, 
when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  Terry  that  it  was  in  his  own 
power  to  put  an  end  to  their  fears  at  once,  by  removing 
the  cause ;  another,  and  more  personal  idea  flashing  across 
his  mind  at  the  same  time. 

"  Why,  then,  bad  'cess  to  this  thick  skull  o'  mine,"  said 
he,  as  he  picked  up  the  snail  and  hurled  it  to  a  distance. 
"It  well  becomes  me  to  be  stickin'  here,  watchin'  the 
antics  of  these  little  ragamuflSns,  instead  of  mindin'  my 
own  business  of  threasure-huntin' ;"  so,  without  waiting,  to 
see  what  efiect  his  timely  interference  had  upon  the  super- 
nals,  he  commenced  vigorously  to  prosecute  his  search. 

For  some  time  he  diligently  explored  the  crevices  and 
deep  hollows  on  the  mountain's  side,  without  finding  the 
slightest  indication  to  stimulate  his  exertions  ;  one  particu- 
lar opening,  however,  he  was  loathe  to  penetrate ;  the 
insects  were  so  numerous  therein,  and  flew  so  spitefully 
against  his  face,  that,  although  it  evidently  extended  to 
some  distance  into  the  heart  of  the  mountain,  again  and 
again  he  was  driven  from  his  purpose  of  ascertaining  that 
fact  by  the  pertinacity  of  the  annoying  creatures ;  now,  a 
prodigious  horned  beetle  would  bang  sharply  against 
his  cheek ;  anon,  he  would  be  entirely  surrounded  by  a 
12 


266  THE     TIPPERART      VENUS. 

cloud  of  wasps,  through  which  he  had  to  fight  his  way 
lustily. 

Thrice  had  he  entered  the  cavity,  and  having  been  igno- 
miniously  driven  back  each  time,  had  determined  to  give 
up  the  effort  to  penetrate  further.  "  Faix,  an'  it's  mighty 
quare,  entirely,"  said  he,  "  that  this  is  the  only  spot  in  the 
lace  that's  so  throubled  with  the  varmint :  it's  my  belief 
there's  somethin'  in  that,  too,"  he  continued,  a  new  light 
seeming  to  break  upon  him  ;  "  what  should  they  be  here 
for,  more  nor  at  any  other  openin',  unless  it  was  to  keep 
strangers  from  inthrudin'  ?  May  I  never,  if  I  don't  think 
that  same  hole  in  the  rock  is  the  turnpike-gate  to  some- 
thin'  surprizin'  in  the  way  of  a  fairy  road ;  here  goes  to 
thry,  anyway,  in  spite  of  the  singin'  and  stingin'." 

Once  more,  therefore,  my  bold  Terry  attempted  to  enter 
the  cavern,  and  was  attacked  as  before,  but  with  tenfold 
fury  ;  legions  of  stinging  flies,  wasps,  and  hornets,  raised  a 
horrible  din  about  his  ears ;  but,  setting  his  resolution  up 
to  the  fearless  point,  on  he  went,  without  regarding  their 
unpleasant  music ;  expecting,  of  course,  to  be  stung  des- 
perately ;  what  was  his  astonishment  and  relief  to  discover 
that  the  noise  was  the  only  thing  by  which  he  was  at  all 
distressed ;  not  one  of  his  myriad  of  assailants  even  as 
much  as  touched  him,  and  before  he  had  proceeded  many 
steps  further  into  the  cavity,  every  sound  had  ceased. 

He  now  found  his  onward  progress  most  uncomfortably 
impeded  by  a  stubborn  species  of  wild  hedge-briar,  whose 
sharp,  thorny  branches  interlaced  through  each  other, 
forming  a  barrier,  whose  dangerous  appearance  was  suflS- 


THE     TIPPERARY     VENUS.  267 

cient  to  deter  the  boldest  from  risking  a  laceration.  Not 
an  opening  large  enough  to  admit  his  head,  could  Terry 
see,  and  he  was  about  again  to  give  the  attempt  up  as 
unattainable,  when,  by  the  merest  accident,  on  turning- 
round,  his  foot  slipped,  and  with  that  inward  shudder  with 
which  one  prepares  for  an  inevitable  hurt,  he  fell  against 
the  prickly  wall ;  wheu,  to  his  utter  amazement,  it  divided 
on  each  side  as  though  it  were  fashioned  of  smoke,  and  he 
tumbled  through,  somewhat  roughly,  to  be  sure,  but  alto- 
gether unharmed  by  the  formidable-looking  interposi- 
tion. 

"  By  the  mortial  of  war,"  he  cried,  rubbing  his  dilapi- 
dated elbow,  and  looking  round  to  examine  his  position, 
"  I'm  on  the  right  side  of  that  hedge,  any  way." 

Now,  Terry  perceived  that  the  barrier  he  had  just  so 
successfully  passed  was  slowly  regaining  its  original 
appearance,  and,  to  his  mortification,  as  it  gradually  closed 
up  the  aperture  of  the  cavern,  the  light,  hitherto  quite  suf- 
ficient for  him  distinctly  to  see  every  object,  faded  away 
slowly,  and  finally  left  him  in  utter  darkness. 

"  Bedad,  an'  a  tindher-box  an'  a  sulphur  match  would 
be  about  the  greatest  threasure  I  could  light  on  at  this  pres- 
ent," said  Terry,  as  he  groped  about  cautiously,  to  find  some 
kind  of  an  elevation  whereupon  he  might  sit  and  wait  for 
luck. 

He  had  not  been  many  minutes,  however,  in  the  black- 
ness, when  his  quickened  sense  became  aware  of  a  light, 
reddish  spot,  which  faintly  glowed  at  some  distance.  This 
was  the  first  sign  of  an  encouraging  nature  he  had  experi- 


268  THE     TIPPERART     TENUS. 

enced,  and  with  a  beaticg  heart  he  proceeded  to  feel  his 
way  towards  the  bright  indication. 

Getting  gradually  accustomed  to  the  dimness  that  sur- 
rounded him  he  suddenly  discovered  that  he  was  opposed 
by  a  solid  wall  of  rock,  in  the  very  centre  of  which  the 
pale  red  glimmer  still  shone,  like  a  star  seen  through  a  sum- 
mer mist. 

"  The  divil  a  use  in  my  thravellin'  any  longer  in  that 
direction,"  said  Terry,  turning  sharply  round  to  retrace  his 
steps,  when  to  his  amazement  and  consternation  he  encoun- 
tered the  same  rocky  barrier.  Whichever  way  he  looked 
all  was  alike,  stern  and  impassable.  He  was  enclosed 
within  a  stony  wall,  whose  circumference  was  but  little 
more  than  an  arm's  length,  but  whose  height  was  lost  in 
the  unsearchable  darkness. 

"  Musha,  then,  how  the  didl  did  I  stumble  into  this  man 
thrap  ?"  cried  Terry,  in  consternation.  "  There's  no  way 
out  that  I  can  see,  an'  where  the  mischief  the  top  of  it  is, 
IS  beyant  my  comprehendin'.  Bedad,  there's  nothing  for 
it  but  to  thry  an'  climb  up."  So  saying,  Terry  placed  his 
"^ot  upon  what  he  supposed,  in  the  uncertain  light,  was  a 
,x)ld  projection  of  the  rock,  when  down  he  stepped  through 
u  and  before  he  could  recover  his  perpendicular,  his  body 
^   is  half  buried  in  the  apparent  wall. 

"  Be  jabers,  if  it  ain't  more  of  their  thricks — the  never 
}  -'ock's  there,  no  more  nor  the  briars  was ;  they  may  make 
f -•'■Is  of  my  eyes,  but  they  can't  of  my  fingers,  an'  its  thim 
V]]  thrust  to  in  future,"  said  he  ;  and  so,  keeping  the  light 
in  view,  lie  boldly  dashed  through  all  the  seeming  obsta- 


THE     TIPPERART     VENUS.  269 

cles,  and  soon  found  himself  once  more  in  an  open  space. 
It  was  a  kind  of  vaulted  tunnel  that  he  was  now  traversing, 
his  onward  path  still  in  profound  darkness,  with  the  sole 
exception  of  the  red  light,  which  Terry  imagined  grew 
larger  and  more  distinct,  each  step  he  took.  A  rush  of 
warm  air  every  now  and  then  swept  by  him,  and  his  tread 
echoed  in  the  far  distance,  giving  an  idea  of  immense 
length. 

Somewhat  assured  by  the  impunity  with  which  he  had 
already  explored  the  enchanted  districts,  he  was  beginning 
to  pick  his  way  with  freer  breath,  when  his  ears  were  smit- 
ten by  a  sound  which  sank  his  heart  still  deeper.  It  was 
the  loud  and  furious  barking  of  a  pack  of  evidently  most 
ferocious  dogs,  which  approached  rapidly,  right  in  his  path. 
On  came  the  savage  animals,  louder  and  louder  grew  their 
terrible  bark,  and  Terry  gave  himself  up  for  lost  in  good 
earnest.  It  was  no  use  to  turn  about  and  run,  although 
that  was  his  first  impulse ;  so,  flinging  himself  down  on  the 
ground,  he  awaited  the  attack  of  his  unseen  foes.  He 
could  now  hear  the  clatter  of  their  enormous  paws,  while 
their  growlings  echoed  through  the  cavern  like  thunder. 

"  Murdher  an'  nouns,  there's  a  half  a  hundred  of  them, 
I  know  there  is  ;  an'  it's  mince-meat  they'll  make  of  me  in 
less  than  no  time,"  cried  Terry,  mumbling  all  the  prayers 
he  could  remember,  and  in  another  instant,  with  a  tremen- 
dous roar,  they  were  upon  him,  and,  with  stunning  yells, 
swept  over  him  as  he  lay  ;  but  not  an  atom  did  he  feel,  no 
more  than  if  a  cloud  had  passed  across. 

"  If  they're  not  at  it  again,  the  blaggards,"  said  he,  get- 


270  THE     TIPPERAKY     VENTJS. 

ting  up,  and  shaking  himself;  "  the  divil  a  dog  was  there 
in  the  place  at  all — nothin*  but  mouth — but,  by  dad,  there's 
enough  of  that  to  frighten  the  sowl  out  of  a  narvous 
Christian  ;"  and  once  more  the  bold  Piper  started  in  pursuit 
of  the  coveted  light.  He  had  not  proceeded  very  far,  be- 
fore he  heard  the  distant  bellowing  of  a  bull ;  but,  warned 
by  his  past  experience,  he  shut  his  ears  against  the  sound, 
and  although  it  increased  fearfully,  as  though  some  mad 
herd  were  tearing  down  upon  him,  he  courageously  kept 
on.  To  be  sure,  his  breath  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  his 
pulse  ceased  to  beat,  when  the  thing  seemed  to  approach 
his  vicinity,  but,  as  he  anticipated,  the  terror  fled  by  him 
as  he  stood  up  erect,  with  the  sensation,  only,  of  a  passing 
breeze. 

Terry  received  no  further  molestation,  but  plodded  along 
quietly  until  he  came  right  up  to  the  place  from  whence 
the  light  proceeded  which  had  hitherto  guided  him,  and 
here  a  most  gorgeous  sight  presented  itself  to  his  enrap- 
tured gaze. 

Within  a  luminous  opening  of  the  cave  he  saw  groups 
of  living  atomies,  all  busied  in  the  formation  of  the  various 
gems  for  which  the  rich  ones  of  the  world  hunger.  In 
one  compartment  were  the  diamond-makers ;  in  another, 
those  who,  when  finished,  coated  them  over  with  the  rough 
exterior  which  they  hoped  would  prevent  them  from  being 
distinguished  from  common  pebbles.  Here  was  a  tiny 
multitude,  fashioning  emeralds  of  astonishing  magnitude  ; 
there,  a  crowd  of  industrious  elves,  putting  the  last  sparkle 
into  some  mairnificent  rubies. 


THE     TIPPERARY     VENUS.  271 

"Witli  staring  eyes,  and  mouth  all  agape  with  wonder 
and  delight,  Terry  watched  the  curious  process  for  a  few 
moments,  scarcely  breathing  audibly  for  fear  of  breaking 
the  brilliant  spell.  What  to  do  he  did  not  know.  Heaps 
of  the  coveted  jewels  lay  around  within  his  very  grasp,  yet 
how  to  possess  himself,  without  danger,  of  a  few  handfuls, 
he  couldn't  imagine. 

At  last,  resolving  to  make  one  final  effort  to  enrich  him- 
self, he  suddenly  plunged  his  hand  into  the  glittering  mass 
of  diamonds,  presuming  they  were  the  most  valuable,  and, 
clutching  a  quantity,  thrust  them  into  his  pocket,  intending 
to  repeat  the  operation  until  he  had  sufiicient ;  but  the  in- 
stant that  he  did  so,  the  entire  cavern  was  rent  asunder  as 
with  the  force  of  an  earthquake,  the  solid  rock  opened  be- 
neath him  with  a  deafening  explosion,  and  he  was  shot  up- 
wards as  from  the  mouth  of  a  cannon — up — up  through 
the  rifted  cave,  and  miles  high  into  the  air.  Not  a  whit 
injured  did  he  feel  from  the  concussion,  saving  a  sense  of 
lightness,  as  though  he  was  as  empty  as  a  blown  bladder. 
So  high  did  he  go  in  his  aerial  flight,  that  he  plainly  saw 
to-morrow^s  sun  lighting  up  the  lakes  and  fields  of  other 
latitudes.  As  soon  as  he  had  reached  an  altitude  commen- 
surate with  the  power  of  the  explosive  agency,  he  turned 
over  and  commenced  his  downward  progress,  and,  to  his 
great  relief,  found  that  his  fall  was  by  no  means  as  rapid  as 
he  had  anticipated — for  his  consciousness  had  not  for  a 
moment  left  him ;  on  the  contrary,  the  buoyant  air  sup- 
ported him  without  diflSculty,  and  each  random  gust  of 
wind  tossed  him  about  like  a  feather.     Well,  day  came, 


272  THE     TIPPBBAET     VENUS. 

and  shone,  and  vanished;  so  did  the  evening,  and  the 
starry  night,  and  early  morning,  before  Terry  had  com- 
pleted his  easy  descent ;  when  at  length  he  touched  the 
earth,  gently  as  a  falling  'ieaf,  ^nd  found  himself  lying  be- 
side the  very  stone  from  whence  he  had  departed  on  his 
late  exploration.  The  marks  of  the  recent  terrible  con- 
vulsion were  visible,  however,  for  the  vast  mountain  was 
gone,  and  in  its  place  a  deep,  round  chasm,  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  a  dark  yellow  liquid,  that  hissed  and  bubbled 
into  flame  like  a  Tartarian  lake.  The  rocks  around  him, 
that  before  had  shone  so  resplendently,  were  now  black- 
ened and  calcined — the  lovely  vegetation  blasted — the  par- 
adise a  desert. 

"  Athin,  may-be,  I  haven't  been  kickin'  up  the  diviPs 
delights  hereabouts,"  said  Terry,  as  he  looked  round  at  the 
desolation.  "  But  never  a  hair  I  care ;  haven't  I  got  a 
pocket-full  of  big  di'minds,  an'  won't  they  set  me  up  any- 
way ?"  he  continued,  drawing  forth  the  precious  contents 
of  his  pocket,  and  placing  them  on  the  rock  by  his  side ; 
when,  to  his  infinite  mortification,  the  entire  collection 
turned  out  to  be  nothing  but  worthless  pebbles. 

"Musha!  thin,  may  bad  luck  attend  yez  for  a  set  of 
scherain'  vagabones ;  an'  afther  all  my  throuble  it's  done 
again  I  am,"  he  cried,  in  a  rage,  emptying  his  pocket,  and 
flinging  away  its  contents  in  thorough  disgust.  "  Hollo  ! 
what's  this  ?"  he  cried,  with  a  start,  as  he  drew  forth  the 
last  handful ;  "  may  I  never  ate  bread  if  I  haven't  tuk  one 
of  the  chaps  prisoner,  an'  if  it  isn't  a  Leprechaun  I'm  not 
alive ;"  and  sure  enough  there,  lying  in  the  palm  of  his 


THE     TIPPERAKY     VENUS.  273 

hand,  was  as  queer   a  looking  specimen  of  fairyhood  as 
ever  the  eye  looked  upon. 

The  little  bit  of  a  creature  had  the  appearance  of  an  old 
man,  with  wrinkled  skin  and  withered  features.  It  was 
dressed,  too,  in  the  costume  of  a  by-gone  age. '  A  mite  of 
a  velvet  coat  covered  its  morsel  of  a  back  ;  a  pair  of  velvet 
breeches,  together  with  white  silk  stockings,  and  little  red- 
heeled  shoes,  adorned  its  diminutive  legs,  which  looked  as 
if  they  might  have  belonged  to  a  rather  fat  spider,  and  a 
stiff  white  wig,  duly  pomatumed  and  powdered,  surmounted 
by  a  three-cornered  hat,  bedecked  its  head. 

The  leprechaun  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  insensibility, 
as  Terry  examined  minutely  its  old-fashioned  appearance. 
'  It's  just  as  I've  heard  tell  of  'em,"  he  cried,  in  glee ; 
"  cocked  hat,  an'  breeches,  an'  buckles,  an'  all.  Hurroo  ! 
I'm  a  made  man  if  he  ever  comes  to."  With  that,  Terry 
breathed  gently  on  the  little  fellow  as  he  lay  in  his  hand, 
as  one  would  to  resuscitate  a  drowned  fly. 

"  I  wondher  if  he'd  have  any  relish  for  wather — here 
goes  to  thry,"  said  Terry,  plucking  a  buttercup  flower,  in 
whose  cavity  a  drop  of  dew  had  rested,  and  holding  it  to 
the  lips  of  the  leprechaun,  "  Oh,  murdher  !  if  I  only  had  a 
taste  of  whisky  to  qualify  it ;  if  that  wouldn't  bring  the 
life  into  an  Irish  fairy,  nothing  would  Ha !  he's  openin' 
his  bit  of  an  eye,  by  dad  ;  here,  suck  this,  yer  sowl  to 
glory,"  Terry  continued,  and  was  soon  gratified  by  seeing 
the  leprechaun  begin  to  imbibe  the  contents  of  the  butter- 
cup with  intense  avidity. 

"  I  hope  you're  betther,  sir,"  said  Terry,  politely. 
12* 


274  THE     TIPPERAKY     VENUS. 

"Not  the  betther  for  you,  Mr.  Terry  Magra,"  replied  the 
fairy,  "  though  I'm  obleeged  to  you  for,  the  drop  o'  drink." 

"  Indeed,  an'  yer  welcome,  sir,"  Terry  went  on,  "  an' 
more  betoken,  it's  mighty  sorry  I  am  to  have  gev  you  any 
oneasiness." 

"  That's  the  last  lie  you  towld,  Mr.  Terry,  and  you  know 
it,"  the  leprechaun  answered,  tartly,  "  when  your  heart  is 
fairly  leapin'  in  your  body  because  you've  had  the  luck  to 
lay  a  howld  of  me." 

"  Well,  an'  can't  a  fella  be  glad  at  his  own  luck,  an'  yet 
sorry  if  anybody  else  is  hurted  by  it,"  said  Teriy,  apolo- 
getically. 

"  You  can't  humbug  me,  you  covetious  blaggard,"  the 
fairy  went  on.  "  But  I'll  thry  you,  anyway — now  listen  to 
me.  The  fairies  that  you  have  just  been  so  wicked  as  to 
inthrude  your  unwelcome  presence  upon,  were  all  lepre- 
chauns like  ^lyself — immortal  essences,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  make  and  guard  the  treasures,  that  you  saw  in  spite 
of  all  the  terrors  that  we  employed  to  frighten  you  away. 
So  long  as  they  were  unobserved  by  mortal  eyes,  our  exist- 
ence was  a  bright  and  glorious  one ;  but,  once  seen,  we  are 
obliged  to  abandon  our  fairy  life  and  shape,  take  this  de- 
grading form,  and  work  at  a  degrading  occupation,  subject 
to  the  ailments  and  mishaps  of  frail  humanity,  and  forced 
to  live  in  constant  fear  of  your  insatiate  species.  Now,  the 
only  chance  I  have  to  regain  the  blissful  immortality  I  have 
lost,  is  for  you  to  be  magnanimous  enough  to  relinquish  the 
good  fortune  you  anticipate  from  my  capture.  Set  me  un- 
conditionally free,  and  I  can  revel  once  more  in  my  for- 


THE     TIPPEKARY     VENUS.  275 

feited  fairy  existence — persevere  in  your  ungenerous  ad- 
vantage,  and  I  am  condemned  to  wander  a  wretched  out- 
cast through  the  world — now,  what  is  your  determination  ?" 

Terry's  better  feehngs  prompted  him  at  first  to  let  the 
little  creature  go,  but  love  of  lucre  got  the  upper  hand, 
and  after  a  slight  pause  of  irresolution,  he  replied : 

"  Indeed,  an'  it's  heart  sick  that  I  am  to  act  so  conthrary, 
but  I'll  leave  it  to  yerself  if  it  ain't  agin  nature  for  a  man 
to  fling  away  his  luck.  Shoemakin'  is  an  iligant  amuse- 
ment, an'  profitable  ;  you'll  soon  get  mighty  fond  of  it  ;  so, 
I'm  afeard  I'll  have  to  throuble  you  to  do  somethin'  for 
me." 

"  I  thought  how  it  would  be ;  you're  all  alike,"  said  the 
fairy,  sadly;  "selfish  to  the  heart's  core.  Well,  what  do 
you  want  ?  I'm  in  your  power,  and  must  fulfill  your 
desire." 

"  Long  life  to  you ;  now  ye  talk  sense,"  cried  Terry, 
elated.  "  Sure  I  won't  be  hard  on  you — a  thrifle  of  money 
is  all  I  wish  for  in  the  world,  for  everything  else  will  follow 
that." 

"  More,  perhaps,  than  you  imagine — cares  and  anxieties," 
said  the  leprechaun. 

"I'll  risk  all  them,"  replied  Terry ;  "  come,  now,  I'll  tell 
you  what  you  may  do  for  me.  Let  me  find  a  shillin'  in 
my  pocket  every  time  I  put  my  fist  into  it,  an'  I'll  be  satis- 
fied." 

"  Enough  !  it's  a  bargain  ;  and  now  that  you  have  made 
your  wish,  all  your  power  over  me  is  gone,"  said  the  lepre- 
chaun, springing  out  of  his  hand  like  a  grasshopper,  and 


276  THE     TIPPERAEY     YENUS. 

lighting  on  the  branch  beside  him  ;  "  it's  a  purty  sort  of  a 
fool  you  are,"  it  continued,  with  a  chuckle,  "  when  the 
threasures  of  the  universe  were  yours  for  the  desire,  to  be 
contented  with  a  pitiful  pocket-full  of  shillings  !  ho  !  ho !" 
and  the  little  thing  laughed  like  a  cornkrake  at  the  dis- 
comfited Terry. 

"  Musha !  then,  may  bad  cess  to  me  if  I  don't  crush  the 
fun  out  of  yoijr  cattherpillar  of  a  carcass  if  I  ketch  a  howlt 
of  you,"  said  Terry,  savagely  griping  at  the  fairy  ;  but, 
with  another  spring,  it  jumped  into  the  brushwood,  and 
disappeared. 

Terry's  first  impulse  was  to  dive  his  hand  into  his  pocket 
to  see  if  the  leprechaun  had  kept  his  word,  and  to  his 
great  delight,  there  he  found,  sure  enough,  a  fine  bright 
new  shilling.  At  this  discovery  his  joy  knew  no  bounds. 
He  jumped  and  hallooed  aloud,  amusing  himself  flinging 
away  shilling  after  shilling,  merely  on  purpose  to  test  the 
continuance  of  the  supply.  He  was  satisfied.  It  was  in- 
exhaustible, and  bright  dreams  of  a  splendid  future  flitted 
before  his  excited  imagination. 

With  a  heart  full  of  happiness,  Terry  now  wended  his 
way  homeward,  busying  himself,  as  he  went  al^ng,  in  con- 
veying shilling  after  shilling  from  one  pocket  into  the 
other,  until  he  filled  it  up  to  the  button-hole.  On  arriving 
at  the  \dllage,  he  met  a  few  of  his  old  companions,  but  so 
altered  that  he  could  scarcely  recognize  them,  while  they 
stared  at  him  as  though  he  were  a  spectre. 

"  Keep  us  from  harm,"  said  one,  "  if  here  ain't  Terry 
Magra  come  back." 


THE     TIPPERARY     VENUS.  277 

"  Bact,"  cried  Terry,  with  a  merry  laugh,  "  why,  man 
alive,  I've  never  been  away." 

"  Never  away,  indeed,  and  the  hair  of  you  as  white  as 
the  dhriven  snow,  that  wasr^as  brown  as  a  beetle's  back, 
whin  you  left,"  said  the  other. 

It  then  struck  Terry  that  his  friends  in  their  turn  had 
aged  considerably.  The  youngest  that  he  remembered  had 
become  bent  and  wrinkled.  "  The  saints  be  good  to  us," 
he  cried,  "  but  this  is  mighty  quare  entirely.  How  long  is 
it  sence  I've  seen  yez,  boys  ?"  he  inquired  eagerly. 

"  How  long  is  it  ?  why,  a  matther  of  twenty  years  or 
so,"  said  one  of  the  bystanders  ;  "  don't  you  know  it  is  ?" 

"Faith,  an'  I  didn't  until  this  blessed  minute,"  said  Ter- 
ry. "  Have  I  grown  ould  onbeknownst  to  myself,  I  won- 
dher?"    • 

"  Bedad,  an'  it's  an  easy  time  you  must  have  had  sence 
you've  been  away,"  said  another  ;  "  not  all  as  one  as  some 
of  us." 

"  Well,  won't  you  come  an'  taste  a  sup,  for  gra'  we  met  ?" 
said  Terry,  beginning  to  feel  rather  uneasy  at  the  singular 
turn  things  had  taken ;  but  they  ^hook  their  heads,  and, 
without  any  other  observation,  passed  on,  leaving  him 
standing  alone. 

"  Stop  !"  he  cried,  "  wait  a  bit ;  it's  lashin's  of  money 
that  I  have — here — look ;"  and  he  drew  forth  a  handful 
of  the  silver.  It  was  no  use,  however.  All  their  old  cor- 
diality and  love  of  fun  were  gone  ;  off  they  went,  without 
even  a  glance  behind  them. 
'  "  Twenty  years,"  said  Terry  to  himself.     "  Oh,  they're 


278  THE     TIPPERAKT     VENUS. 

makin'  fun  of  me.  I  don't  feel  a  bit  oulder  nor  I  was  yes- 
therday.  I'll  soon  be  easy  on  that  point,  anyway."  So  he 
proceeded  towards  the  old  drinking-place,  that  he  had  so 
often  spent  the  night  in,  but  not  an  atom  of  it  could  he 
find.  In  the  place  where  he  expected  to  see  it,  there  was 
a  bran  new  house.  He  entered  it,  however,  and  going 
straight  up  to  a  looking-glass  which  stood  in  the  room, 
was  amazed  on  seeing  reflected  therein  an  apparition  he 
could  not  recognize,  so  withered  and  wrinkled  did  it  appear, 
and  so  altogether  unlike  what  he  anticipated,  that  he  turned 
sharply  around  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  aged  individual 
looking  over  his  shoulder ;  but  he  was  entirely  alone — it 
was  his  own  reflection,  and  no  mistake  at  all  about  it. 

"  By  the  powers  of  war,  but  my  journey  into  the  moun- 
tains hasn't  improved  my  personal  appearance,"  said  he. 
"  It's  easy  to  see  that ;  but,  never  mind,  I've  got  the  money, 
an'  that'll  comfort  me ;"  and  he  jingled  the  shillings  in  his 
pocket  as  if  he  could  never  weary  of  the  sound. 

In  a  short  time  the  fame  of  Terry's  wealth  spread 
abroad,  and  as  it  may  readily  be  imagined,  he  didn't  long 
want  companions.  The  gay  and  the  dissolute  flocked 
round  him,  and  as  he  had  a  welcome  smile  and  a  Hberal 
hand  for  everybody,  the  hours  flew  by,  carrying  uproarious 
jollity  on  their  wings,  and  notwithstanding  his  infirmities 
of  body,  Terry  was  as  happy  as  the  days  were  long. 

Now,  while  he  had  only  to  provide  for  his  own  immedi- 
ate wants,  and  settle  the  whisky  scores  of  his  riotous 
friends,  he  had  easy  work  of  it.  It  was  only  to  keep  put- 
ting his  hand  into  hia  pocket  two  or  three  dozen  times  a 


THE     TIPPERAET     VENUS.  279 

day,  and  there  was  more  than  sufficient.  But  this  kind  of 
existence  soon  began  to  grow  monotonous,  and  Terry 
sighed  for  the  more  enviable  pleasures  of  a  domestic  life, 
and  inasmuch  as  it  was  now  well  understood  that  Terry 
was  an  "  eligible  party,"  he  had  no  great  difficulty  in  mak- 
ing a  selection.  Many  of  the  "  down  hill  "  spinsters  gave 
evident  indications  that  they  would  be  nothing  loth  to 
take  him  for  better  or  for  worse  ;  and — I'm  sorry  to  have 
to  record  the  fact — not  a  few  even  of  the  more  youthful 
maidens  set  their  curls  at  the  quondam  piper.  Neither  his 
age,  nor  the  doubtful  source  of  his  revenue,  rendering  him 
an  unmarketable  commodity  in  the  shambles  of  Hymen. 

In  process  of  time,  Terry  wooed  and  won  a  demure- 
looking  little  collieen,  and  after  having  shut  himself  up  for 
two  or  three  days,  accumulating  money  enough  for  the 
interesting  and  expensive  ceremony,  was  duly  bound  to  her 
for  life.  Now,  it  was  that  his  inexhaustible  pocket  began 
to  be  overhauled  continuously,  and  Terry  cursed  his  im- 
prudence in  not  asking  for  guineas  instead  of  shillings. 
Mrs.  Terry  Magra  possessed  a  somewhat  ambitious  desire 
to  outvie  her  neighbors.  Silk  dresses  were  in  demand 
and  shawls  and  bonnets  by  the  cart-load.  The  constant 
employment  gave  Terry  the  rheumatism  in  his  muscles, 
until  at  last  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  he  could 
force  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

Before  many  months  had  elapsed,  Terry  was  prostrated 
upon  a  sick  bed,  his  side — the  pocket-side — completely 
paralyzed,  and  as  he  was  not  one  of  those  who  lay  by  for 
a  rainy  daj',  his  inability  to  apply  to  his  fairy  exchequer 


280  THE     TIPPEEAKT     VENUS. 

caused  him  to  suflfer  the  greatest  privation — and  where 
were  the  boon  companions  of  .his  joyous  hours,  now  ? 
Vanished — not  one  of  them  to  be  seen — but  haply  flutter- 
ing around  some  new  favorite  of  fortune,  to  be  in  his  turn 
fooled,  flattered,  and  when  the  dark  day  came — deserted. 

When  Terry  grew  better  in  health,  which  he  did  very 
slowly,  there  was  a  considerable  back-way  to  make  up,  and 
the  best  part  of  his  time  was  occupied  in  the  mere  mechan- 
ical labor  of  bringing  out  his  shillings.  Mrs.  Magra  also 
became  more  and  more  exacting,  and  the  care-worn  piper 
began  to  acknowledge  to  himself  thai  nis  good  fortune  was 
not  at  all  comparable  with  the  anxiety  and  annoyance  it 
had  produced.  Again  and  again  he  deplored  the  chance 
which  had  placed  the  temptation  in  his  way,  and  most 
especially  blamed  his  own  selfish  greed,  which  prevented 
him  from  behaviug  with  proper  generosity  toward  the  cap- 
tured leprechaun. 

"  He  towld  me  plain  enough  what  would  come  of  it," 
cried  he,  one  day,  as,  utterly  exhausted,  he  threw  himself 
on  the  floor,  after  many  hours'  application  to  the  indispen- 
sable pocket ;  "  he  towld  me  that  it  would  bring  care  and 
misery,  an'  yet  I  wasn't  satisfied  to  profit  by  the  warning. 
Here  am  I,  without  a  single  hour  of  comfort,  everybody 
dhragg-in'  at  me  for  money,  money  !  an'  the  very  sinews  of 
me  fairly  wore  out  wid  divin'  for  it.  This  sort  of  life  ain't 
worth  livin'  for." 

Before  long,  Terry's  necessities  increased  to  such  a 
degree,  that  out  of  the  twenty-four  hours  of  the  day  and 
night,  more  than  two-thirds  were  taken  up  with  the  now 


THE     TIPPERARY     VENUS.  281 

terrible  drudgery  by  which  they  were  to  be  supplied.  No 
time  had  he  left  for  relaxation — hardly  for  sleep.  The 
thought  of  to-morrow's  toil  weighed  on  liis  heart,  and  kept 
him  from  rest.  He  was  thoroughly  miserable.  It  was  in 
vain  that  he  called  upon  death  to  put  an  end  to  him  and 
his  wretchedness  together ;  there  was  no  escape  for  him, 
even,  by  that  dark  road  ;  the  fear  of  a  worse  hereafter,  made 
imminent  by  the  consciousness  of  an  ill-spent  life,  kept  him 
from  opening  the  eternal  gate  himself,  to  which  he  was 
often  sorely  tempted. 

To  this  great  despondency  succeeded  a  course  of  reckless 
dissipation  and  drunkenness.  Homeless  at  last,  he  wan- 
dered from  one  drinking-shop  to  another,  caring  nothing 
for  the  lamentable  destitution  in  which  his  family  was 
steeped  ;  for,  as  is  usually  the  case,  the  poorer  he  became 
the  more  his  family  increased.  His  deserted  wife  and 
starving  little  ones  were  forced  to  obtain  a  scanty  subsist- 
ence through  the  degrading  means  of  beggary.  He  him- 
self never  applied  to  his  fairy  resource  unless  to  furnish 
suflScient  of  the  scorching  liquor  as  would  completely 
drown  all  sense  of  circumstance.  The  slightest  approach 
to  sobriety  only  brought  with  it  reflection,  and  reflection 
was  madness.  So,  the  very  worst  amongst  the  worst,  in 
rags  and  filth,  he  staggered  about  the  village,  a  mark  of 
scorn  and  contempt  to  every  passer-by^,  or  else  prone  upon 
some  congenial  heap  of  garbage,  slept  off"  the  fierceness  of 
his  intoxication,  to  be  again  renewed  the  instant  conscious- 
ness returned. 

With  that  extraordinary  tenacity  of  life  indicative  of  an 


282  THE     TIPPEEAET     VENTS. 

originally  fine  constitution,  whicli,  added  to  a  naturally 
powerful  frame  of  body,  might  have  prolonged  his  years 
even  beyond  the  allotted  space,  Terry  crept  on  in  this  worse 
than  brutal  state  of  existence  for  many  months,  until  at 
last,  one  morning,  after  a  drinking  bout  of  more  than  usual 
excess,  he  was  found  lying  in  a  stable  to  which  he  had 
crawled  for  shelter,  insensible,  and  seemingly  dead.  Per- 
cei%nng,  however,  some  slight  signs  of  animation  yet 
remaining,  his  discoverers  carried  him  to  the  public  hospi- 
tal, for  home  he  had  none,  and  his  own  misdeeds  had 
estranged  the  affections,  and  closed  the  heart  against  him 
of  her  whose  inclination  as  well  as  duty  would  have 
brought  her  quickly  to  his  side,  had  he  but  regarded  and 
cherished  the  great  God-gift  to  man — a  woman's  love,  and 
not  cast  it  aside  as  a  worthless  thing. 

Tended  and  cared  for,  however,  although  by  stranger 
hands,  Terry  hovered  a  long  time  betwixt  life  and  death, 
until  at  length  skill  and  attention  triumphed  over  the  assail- 
ant, and  he  was  restored  to  comparative  health. 

It  was  then,  during  the  long  solitary  hours  of  his  conva- 
lescence, when  the  mind  was  restored  to  thorough  con- 
sciousness, but  the  frame  yet  too  weak  for  him  to  quit  his 
bed,  that  the  recollection  of  his  wasted  existence  stood 
spectre-like  before  his  mental  vision.  Home  destroyed, 
wife  _  and  children  abandoned,  friendships  sundered,  and 
himself  brought  to  the  brink  of  a  dreaded  eternity,  and  all 
through  the  means  he  had  so  eagerly  coveted,  and  by 
which  he  had  expected  to  revel  in  all  the  world's  joys. 

He  prayed,  in  the  earnest  sincerity  of  awakened  repent- 


THE     TIPPERAKT     VENTS.  2B3 

ance  ;  he  prayed  for  Heaven's  assistance  to  enable  bim  to 
return  to  tbe  straight  path. 

"Oh!  if  I  once  get  out  of  this,"  he  cried,  while  drops 
of  agony  bedewed  his  face,  "  I'll  make  amends  during  the 
brief  time  yet  left  me — I  will,  I  will.  Come  what  may, 
never  again  will  I  be  beholdin'  to  that  fearful  gift.  I  now 
find  to  my  great  cost  that  wealth,  not  properly  come  by,  is 
a  curse  and  not  a  blessing.  I'll  work,  with  the  help  of  the 
good  God  and  his  bright  angels,  an'  may-be  peace  will 
once  more  visit  my  tortured  heart." 

It  was  some  time  before  he  was  able  to  leave  his  bed, 
but  when  at  last  he  was  pronounced  convalescent,  he  quit- 
ted the.  hospital,  with  the  firm  determination  never  again, 
under  any  circumstance  whatsoever,  even  to  place  his  hand 
wdtliin  the  pocket  from  whence  he  had  hitherto  drawn  his 
resources.  As  a  further  security  against  the  probability  of 
temptation,  he  took  a  strong  needle  and  thread,  and  sewed 
up  the  opening  tightly. 

"  There,"  he  cried,  with  an  accent  of  relief,  "  bad  luck 
to  the  toe  of  me  can  get  in  there  now.  Oh  !  how  I  wish 
to  gracious  it  had  always  been  so,  and  I  wouldn't  be  the 
miserable,  homeless,  houseless,  wife  and  childless  vagabone 
that  I  am  at  this  minnit." 

As  he  was  debating  in  his  own  mind  what  he  should 
turn  to  in  order  to  obtain  a  living — for  so  great  a  disgust 
had  he  taken  to  the  pipes,  to  which  he  attributed  all  his 
wretchedness,  that  he  had  determined  to  give  up  his  pro- 
ductive but  precarious  profession  of  piper,  and  abandoning 
the  dissolute  crowd  who  rejoiced  in  his  performances,  be- 


284  THE     TIPPERAET     VENUS. 

take  himself  to  some  more  useful  and  reputable  employ- 
ment— it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  visit  the  scene  of  his 
fairy  adventure,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  get  rid  of  the 
dangerous  gift  his  cupidity  had  obtained  for  him. 

No  sooner  had  he  conceived  the  idea  than  he  instantly 
set  forward  to  put  it  in  execution.  The  night  was  favora- 
ble for  his  purpose,  and  he  arrived  at  the  identical  place  in 
the  mountain,  without  the  slightest  interruption  or  accident. 
He  found  it  just* as  he  had  left  it,  a  scene  of  the  wildest 
desolation.  No  sound  fell  on  his  ear  save  the  mournful 
shrieking  of  the  wind  as  it  tore  itself  against  the  harsh 
branches  of  the  dead  pine  trees.  He  climbed  the  rugged 
side  of  the  hili  and  looked  into  the  black  lake  that  filled 
the  dark  chasm  at  its  summit.  It  seemed  to  be  as  solid  as 
a  sheet  of  lead.  He  flung  a  pebble  into  the  gulf;  it  was 
eagerly  sucked  up,  and  sunk  without  a  ripple,  as  though 
dropped  into  a  mass  of  burning  pitch.  One  heavy  bubble 
swelled  to  the  surface,  broke  into  a  sullen  flame  that  flashed 
lazily  for  an  instant,  and  then  went  out.  A  small,  but  in- 
tensely black  pufi"  of  smoke  rose  above  the  spot ;  so  dense 
was  the  diminutive  cloud  that  it  was  rejected  by  the 
shadowy  atmosphere,  which  refused  to  receive  it  within  its 
bosom.  Reluctantly  it  seemed  to  hang  upon  the  surface 
of  the  lake,  then  slowly  mounted,  careering  backwards  and 
forwards  with  each  passing  breeze. 

The  singular  phenomenon  attracted  Terry's  attention, 
and  he  watched,  with  increasing  interest,  the  gyrations  of 
the  cloud,  until  at  length  it  took  a  steady  direction  towards 
the  spot  where  he  stood.     It  was  not  long  before  it  floated 


THE     TIPPEEARY     VENUS.  285 

up  to  him,  and  he  stepped  aside  to  let  it  pass  by,  but  as  he 
moved,  so  did  the  ball  of  sm5ke.  He  stooped,  and  it  fol- 
lowed his  movement ;  he  turned  and  ran — just  as  swiftly 
it  sped  with  him.  He  now  saw  there  was  something  su- 
pernatural in  it,  and  his  heart  beat  with  apprehension. 

"  There's  no  use  in  kickin'  agin  fate,"  he  said,  "  so,  with 
a  blessin',  I'll  just  stop  where  I  am,  an'  see  what  will  come 
of  it ;  worse  off  I  can't  be,  an'  that's  a  comfort  any  way." 

So  saying,  Terry  stood  still,  and  patiently  waited  the  re- 
sult. To  his  great  surprise  the  cloud  of  smoke,  after  mak- 
ing the  circuit  of  his  head  two  or  three  times,  settled  on 
his  right  shoulder,  and  on  casting  his  eye  round,  he  per- 
ceived that  it  had  changed  into  a  living  form,  but  still  as 
black  as  a  coal. 

"  Bedad  I'm  among  them  agin,  sure  enough,"  said  Terry, 
now  much  more  easy  in  his  mind ;  "  I  wondher  who  this 
little  divil  is  that's  roostin'  so  comfortably  on  my  showl- 
dher." 

"  Wondher  no  longer,  Misther  Terry  Magra,"  grunted  a 
frog-like  voice  into  his  ear;  "by  what  magic  means,  oh! 
presumptuous  mortal,  did  you  discover  the  charmed  stone 
which  compelled  the  spirit  of  yonder  sulphurous  lake  to 
quit  his  warm  quarters,  thus  to  shiver  in  the  uncongenial 
air  ?  Of  all  the  myriad  pebbles  that  are  scattered  around, 
that  was  the  only  one  which  possessed  the  power  to  call 
me  forth." 

"  Faix,  an'  it  was  a  lucky  chance  that  made  me  stumble 
on  it,  sir,"  said  Terry. 

"  That's  as  it  may  turn  out,"  replied  the  spirit.     "  Do 


286  THE     TIPPEBARY      VENUS. 

you  know  who  and  what  I  am  ?  but  why  should  you,  igno- 
rant creature  as  you  are  ?  Listen,  and  be  enlightened.  I 
am  the  chief  guardian  of  yon  bituminous  prison,  within 
whose  murky  depths  lie  groaning  all  of  fairy  kind,  who 
have  by  their  imprudence  forfeited  their  brilliant  station. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  that,  sir  ?  By  goxty,  an'  I  wouldn't 
like  to  change  places  with  them,"  said  Terry,  with  a  great 
effort  at  familiarity. 

"  There's  no  knowing  when  you  may  share  their  fate," 
replied  the  spirit.  "  The  soul  of  many  an  unhappy  mor- 
tal, who  has  abused  a  fairy-gift,  lies  there,  as  well." 

Terry  shivered  to  his  very  marrow  as  he  heard  those 
words,  for  full  well  he  knew,  that  amongst  all  such,  none 
deserved  punishment  more  than  he ;  he  was  only  wondering 
how  his  immortal  part  could  be  extracted  from  its  living 
tenement,  when,  as  though  the  spirit  knew  his  vevj  thoughts, 
it  uttered : 

"I  have  but  to  breathe  within  your  ear  a  word  of  power, 
and  with  that  word  the  current  of  your  life  would  cease." 

Terry  instinctively  stretched  his  neck  to  its  fullest  extent, 
as  he  said  to  himself,  "  I'll  keep  my  lug  out  of  your  reach 
if  I  can,  my  boy.-'  But  the  spirit  either  knew  his  thought 
or  guessed  it  from  the  movement. 

"Foolish  piper,"  it  said,  "I  could  reach  it  did  I  so 
incline,  were  it  as  high  as  Cashel  Tower."  And  to  prove 
that  the  assertion  was  not  a  mere  boast,  the  little  fellow 
made  a  jump,  and  perched  upon  the  bridge  of  Terry's 
nose,  and  sat  there  astride  ;  ai^d  as  it  was  of  the  reti'ousse 
order,  a  very  comfortable  seat  it  had  ;  light  as  a  feather,  it 


THE     TIPPERART      VENUS.  287 

rested  there,  peering  alternately  into  each  of  Terry's  eyes, 
who  squinted  at  the  intruder,  brimful  of  awe  and  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I  give  in,"  said  he.  "  It's  less  nor  nothin'  that  I  am  in 
your  hands ;  but  if  it's  just  as  convainient  for  you,  I'd  be 
much  obliged  to  you  if  you'd  lave  that,  for  its  fairly  tearin' 
the  eyes  out  of  me  head  that  you  are,  while  I'm  thryin'  to 
look  straight  at  you." 

"  It's  all  the  same  to  me  entirely,"  replied  the  spirit ; 
"  and  now  that  you  have  come  to  a  full  sense  of  my  power, 
I'll  take  up  my  position  at  a  more  agreeable  distance." 

So  saying,  the  spirit  bounded  off  of  Terry's  nose,  and 
alighted  on  a  branch  of  the  same  tree  on  which  the  legion 
of  little  pipers  had  before  assembled,  while  Terry  wiped 
his  relieved  eyes  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  sat  upon 
the  piece  of  rock  that  stood  beside. 

"  And  now,  Masther  Magra,"  said  the  spirit,  "  we'll  pro- 
ceed to  business.  Had  you  picked  up  any  other  stone  but 
the  one  you  did,  or  had  you  refrained  from  obstructing  the 
lake  in  any  way,  your  soul  would  have  been  mine  for  ever. 
You  see  what  a  small  chance  you  had.  But  inasmuch  as 
your  a^ood  luck  pointed  out  the  talismanic  pebble,  you  have 
yet  the  privilege  of  making  another  wish  which  I  must 
gratify  whatsoever  it  may  be ;  think  well,  however,  ere  you 
ask  it ;  let  no  scruples  bound  your  desires.  The  wealth  of 
the  world  is  in  my  distribution." 

Terry's  nerves  thrilled  again,  as  his  mind  conjured  up 
images  of  purchased  delights.  But  for  an  instant  only  did 
he  hesitate  what  course  he  should  pursue. 


288  THE     TIPPERART     VENUS. 

"  The  temptation  is  wonderful,"  said  he.  "  But  no  :  Fve 
endured  enough  of  misery  from  what  I've  had  already." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  said  the  spirit,  sharply. 
"  Don't  keep  a  poor  devil  all  night  in  the  cold." 

"  Well,  then,  sir,  I'll  tell  you,"  replied  the  other.  "  I 
suppose  you  know  already — for  you  seem  to  be  mighty 
knowledgeable — that  some  years  back  I  kotch  a  leprechaun 
on  this  very  spot ;  and  though  he  towld  me  that  it  would 
be  the  desthroyin'  of  him  out  an'  out,  I  meanly  chose  to 
make  myself  rich,  as  I  thought,  by  taking  a  fairy-gift  from 
him,  rather  than  lettin'  him  go  free  an'  unharmed.  It  was  a 
dirty  an'  selfish  thransaction  on  my  part,  an'  it's  with  salt 
tears  that  I've  repinted  of  that  same.  Now,  if  that  lepre- 
chaun is  suflerin'  on  my  account,  and  you  can  give  the 
creather  any  comfort,  it's  my  wish  that  you'll  manage  it 
for  me — ay,  even  though  I  was  to  bear  his  punishment 
myself." 

-     "You  have  spoken  well  and  wisely,"  said  the  spirit; 
"  and  your  reward  will  be  beyond  your  hope." 

Simultaneously  with  those  words,  Terry  was  still  more 
astonished  at  beholding  a  gradual  but  complete  change 
taking  place  in  the  neighborhood :  the  blasted  trees  shot 
forth  fresh  branches,  the  branches,  in  their  turn,  pushed 
out  new  leaves,  thick  verdure  overspread  the  rugged  sides  of 
the  mountain ;  while  gushing  joyously  from  an  adjacent  hol- 
low, a  little  rill  danced  merrily  through  the  shining  pebbles, 
singing  its  song  of  gratitude,  as  though  exulting  in  the 
new-found  liberty  ;  unnumbered  birds  began  to  fill  the  air 
with  their  delicious  melody,  the  rifted  and  calcined  rocks 


THETIPPERARY      YENU8.  289 

concealed  their  charred  fronts  beneath  festoons  of  flowering 
parasites,  the  murky  lake  sank  slowly  into  the  abyss,  while 
in  its  place  a  tufted,  daisy-spangled  field  appeared,  to  which 
the  meadow-lark  descended  lovingly,  and  fluttering  a  short 
space  amidst  the  dewy  grass,  sprang  up  again,  with  loud, 
reverberating  note. 

The  primeval  change,  when  the  beautiful  new  world 
emerged  from  chaos,  was  not  more  glorious  than  was  the 
aspect  now  presented  to  the  rapt  beholder.  He  felt  within 
himself  the  exhilarating  eff'ect  of  all  this  vast  and  unex- 
pected wonder,  the  free,  fresh  blood  cast  oft"  its  slu^ish- 
ness,  and  once  more  bounded  through  his  veins,  the  flush 
of  vigor  and  excitement  bedewed  his  brow,  the  flaccid 
muscles  hardened  into  renewed  strength,  elasticity  and 
suppleness  pervaded  every  limb,  stifi'ened  and  racked  ere- 
while  with  keen  rheumatic  pains ;  it  was  not,  however, 
until  attracted  by  the  pure  limpid  stream  that  filtered  into 
a  sandy  hollow  near  him,  he  stooped  down  to  carry  the 
refreshing  draught  up  to  his  lips,  that  he  was  aware  of  the 
greatest  change  of  all ;  for,  instead  of  the  sunken  cheeks 
and  wrinkled  brow,  the  bloodshot  eyes  and  thin,  grey  hairs 
that  he  had  brought  with  him,  the  ruddy,  health-embrowned 
and  joy-lit  features  of  years  long  gone,  laughed  up  at  him 
from  the  glassy  surface. 

And  now  a  merry  little  chuckle  tinkled  in  his  ear,  and 
on  looking  around,  he  discovered  that  the  black  spirit  had 
vanished,  and  in  its  place  sat  the  identical  leprechaun, 
about  whose  melancholy  fate  he  was  so  concerned. 

"  By  the  piper  that  played  before  Moses,  but  it's  glad  I 
13 


290  THE      TIPPERARY      YENUS. 

am  to  see  you  once  more,  my  haro ;  have  they  let  you 
out?"  inquired  Terry,  with  considerable  anxiety. 

"  I  have  never  been  impiisoned,"  replied  the  little  fellow, 
gaily. 

"Why,  then,  tear  an  nountkers,''^  said  Terrv.  "You 
haven't  been  gostherin'  me  all  the  time,  an'  the  heart  of  me 
fairly  burstin'  wid  the  thought  of  them  weeshee  gams  of 
yours  strikin'  out  among  the  pitch  that  was  beyant." 

"  It  was  that  very  feeling  of  humanity,  which  I  knew  yet 
lingered  in  your  heart,  that  saved  you,"  replied  the  lepre- 
chaun. 

"  As  how,  sir,  might  I  ax  ?" 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  saw  me  before  ?" 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  cried  Terry,  with  an  abashed  look, 
"a  weary  life-time  a'most  has  passed  since  then." 

"And  what  a  life-time,"  observed  the  leprechaun, 
reproachfully. 

"Indeed,  an'  you  may  say  that,"  replied  the  other. 
"  There's  no  one  knows  betther  nor  I  do  how  sinfully  that 
life  was  wasted,  how  useless  it  has  been  to  me  an'  to  every 
one  else,  how  foolishly  I  flung  away  the  means  that  might 
have  comforted  those  who  looked  up  to  me,  among  heart- 
less, conscienceless  vagabones,  who  laughed  at  me  while  I 
fed  their  brutish  appetites,  and  fled  from  me  as  though  I 
were  infectious  when  ill-health  and  poverty  fell  upon  my 
head." 

"  Then  the  fairy  gift  did  not  bring  you  happiness  ?" 

"Happiness!"  replied  Terry,  with  a  groan,  "it  changed 
me  from  a  man  into  a  beast,  it  brought  distress  atd  misery 


THE     TIPPERART      VENUS.  291 

upon  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  me,  it  made  my  whole 
worldly  existence  one  continued  reproach,  and  God  help  me, 
I'm  afeared  it  has  shut  the  gates  of  heaven  against  my 
sowl  hereafter." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  have  the  grace  to  be  sorry  this  time 
that  you  didn't  behave  more  generously  in  my  case,"  said 
the  fairy. 

"  True  darlin' ;  if  I  wasn't,  I  wouldn't  be  here  now," 
replied  Terry.  "  It  was  to  thry  and  find  you  out  that  I 
took  this  journey,  an'  a  sore  one  it  is  to  a  man  wid  the 
weight  of  years  that's  on  my  back." 

"Oh,  I  forgot  that  you  were  such  an  ould  creather 
intirely,"  said  the  little  fellow,  with  a  merry  whistle,  "  but 
what  the  mischief  makes  you  bend  your  back  into  an 
apperciand,  and  hide  your  ears  on  your  showlders,  as  if 
the  cowld  was  bitin'  them." 

"Faix,  an'  it's  just  because  I'm  afeered  to  sthraighten 
myself  out,  that  murdherin  thief  rheumatism  has  screwed 
the  muscles  of  my  back  so. tight." 

"  You  can't  stand  up  then,  eh  Terry  ?" 

"  Not  for  this  many  a  long  day,  sir,  more  is  the  pity,'* 
replied  the  other,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  that,"  said  the  leprechaun,  with  a 
queer  expression  of  sympathy.  "There  could  be  no  harm 
thry  in',  any  way." 

"  If  I  thought  there  would  be  any  use  in  it,  it's  only  too 
glad  that  I'd  be,"  said  Terry. 

"  There's  no  knowin'  what  a  man  can  do,  until  he  makes 
the  efl'ort." 


292  THE     TIPPERARY     YEN  US . 

Encouraged  by  these  words,  Terry  commenced  very 
gingerly  to  lift  his  head  from  its  long  sunken  position  ;  to  his 
infinite  delight  he  found  the  movement  unaccompanied 
by  the  slightest  twinge,  and  so,  with  a  heart  brim  full  of 
overflowing  joy,,  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height  with- 
out an  ache  or  a  pain;  tall,  muscular,  and  as  straight  as 
a  tailor's  yard. 

The  hurroo !  that  Terry  sent  forth  from  his  invigorated 
lungs,  when  he  felt  the  entire  consciousness  of  his  return  to 
youth  and  its  attendant  freshness  and  strength,  startled  the 
echoes  of  the  mountain,  like  the  scream  of  a  grey  eagle. 

"  And  now,  Misther  Terry  Magra,"  said  the  leprechaun, 
"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  the  exact  period  of  time  that  has 
transpired  since  I  first  had  the  pleasure  of  a  conversation 
with  you ;  it  is  now  exactly,  by  my  watch,"  and  he  pulled 
out  a  mite  of  a  time-keeper  from  his  fob — "  there's  nothing 
like  being  particular  in  matters  of  chronology— jist  fourteen 
minutes  and  fifty-nine  seconds,  or  to  be  more  explicit,  in 
another  minute  it  will  be  precisely  a  quarter  of  an  hour. " 

"  Oh,  murdher  alive,  only  to  think !"  cried  Terry,  gasping 
for  breath.  "An'  the  wife  an'  childher,  and  the  drunken- 
ness and  misery  I  scattered  around  me." 

"  Served  but  to  show  you,  as  in  a  vision,  the  sure  conse- 
quences which  would  have  resulted  had  you  really  been  in 
possession  of  the  coveted  gift  you  merely  dreamed  that  you 
had  obtained ;  the  life  of  wretchedness  which  you  passed 
through,  in  so  short  a  space  of  time,  is  but  one  of  many 
equally  unfortunate,  some  leading  even  to  a  more  terrible 
close.     There  are  a  few,  however,  I  am  bound  to  say,  on 


THE     TIPPEKARY     VENUS.  293 

whom  earthly  joys  appear  to  shed  a  constant  ray ;  but  we, 
to  whom  their  inmost  thoughts  are  open  as  the  gates  of 
morning  to  the  sun,  know  that  those  very  thoughts  are 
black  as  everlasting  night." 

"  What  say  you  now,  Terry  ?  Will  you  generously  give 
up  your  power  over  me,  and  by  leading  a  life  of  industry 
and  temperance,  insure  for  you  and  yours  contentment, 
happiness,  and  comfort,  or  will  you,  to  the  quelling  of  my 
fairy  existence  and  its  boundless  joys,  risk  the  possession 
of  so  dangerous  though  dazzling  a  gift  as  I  am  compelled 
to  bestow  upon  you,  should  you  insist  on  my  compliance 
with  such  a  wish  ?" 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Terry's  heart  swelled  again  at 
the  renewed  prospect  of  sudden  wealth,  and  inasmuch  as 
he  exhibited,  by  the  puzzled  expression  of  his  countenance, 
the  hidden  thoughts  that  swayed,  alternately,  his  good  and 
evil  impulses,  the  leprechaun  continued — 

'•  Take  time  to  consider — do  nothing  rashly ;  but  weigh 
well  the  consequences  of  each  line  of  conduct,  before  you 
decide  irrevocably  and  for  ever." 

"  More  power  to  you  for  givin'  me  that  chance,  any 
way,"  said  Terry.  "  It  woul'dn't  take  me  long  to  make  my 
mind  up,  if  it  wasn't  for  what  I've  gone  through  ;  but,  '  the 
burnt  child,'  you  know,  '  keeps  away  from  the  fire.'  Might 
I  ax,  sir,  how  far  you  could  go  in  the  way  of  money  ?  for, 
av  I  incline  that  way  at  all,  bedad  it  won't  be  a  peddlin 
shillin'  that  I'll  be  satisfied  with." 

"  Do  you  know  Squire  Moriarty  V  said  the  £airy. 


29^  THE     TIPPERAKY     VENUS. 

'  Is  it  Black  Pether?  who  doesn't  know  the  dirty  thief  of 
the  world  ?  Why,  ould  Bluebeard  was  a  suckin'  babby 
compared  to  him,  in  the  regard  of  cruelty." 

"  How  rich  is  he  ?" 

"  Be  gorra,  an'  they  say  there's  no  countin'  it,  it's  so 
thremendous.  Isn't  he  the  gripinest  an'  most  stony-hearted 
landlord  in  the  barony,  as  many  a  poor  farmer  knows, 
when  rent  day's  to  the  fore  ?"  said  Terry. 

"  And  how  did  he  get  his  money  ?"  inquired  the 
leprechaun. 

"  Indeed,  an'  I  b'lieve  there's  no  tellin'  exactly.  Some 
says  this  way,  an'  others  that.  I've  heard  say  that  he  was 
a  slave  marchint  early  in  life,  or  a  pirate,  or  something 
aiqually  ginteel  an'  profitable,"  replied  Terry. 

"  They  lie,  all  of  them,"  the  little  fellow  went  on.  "  He 
got  it  as  you  did  yours,  by  a  fairy  gift,  and  see  what  it  has 
made  of  him.  In  his  early  days,  there  was  not  a  finer- 
hearted  fellow  to  be  found  anywhere  ;  everybody  liked, 
courted,  and  loved  him." 

"  That's  thrue  enough,"  said  Terry,  "  and  now  there  ain't 
a  dog  on  his  estates  will  wag  a  tail  at  him." 

"  Weir,  you  may  be  as  rich  as  he  is,  if  you  like,  Terry," 
said  the  fairy. 

"  May  I  ?"  cried  Terry,  his  eyes  flashing  fire  at  the 
idea. 

"  He  turned  his  poor  old  mother  out  of  doors,  the  other 
day,"  observed  the  leprechaun,  quietly. 

Terry's   bright   thoughts   vanished   in   an  instant,  and 


THE     TIPPEKAKY      VENUS.  295 

indignation  took  their  place;  for  filial  reverence  is  the 
first  of  Irish  virtues.  "  The  murdherin'  Turk !"  he  exclaimed, 
angrily,  "  if  I  had  a  howld  of  him  now,  I'd  squeeze  the 
sowl  out  of  his  vagabone  carcass,  for  disgracin'  the  coun- 
thry  that's  cursed  with  such  an  unnatural  reprobate." 

"  It  was  the  money  that  made  him  do  it,"  said  the 
fairy. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  that,  sir !" 

"  Indeed  but  I  do,  Terry.  "When  the  love  of  that  takes 
possession  of  a  man's  heart,  there's  no  room  there  for  any 
other  thought.  The  nearest  and  dearest  ties  of  blood,  of 
friendship,  and  of  kin,  are  loosed  and  cast  away  as  worth- 
less things.     You  have  a  mother,  Terry  ?" 

"  I  have,  I  have  ;  may  all*good  angels  guard  and  keep 
Ler  out  of  harm's  way,"  cried  Terry,  earnestly,  while  the 
large  tears  gushed  forth  from  his  eyes.  "  Don't  say  another 
word,"  he  went  on,  rapidly ;  "  if  it  was  goold  mines  that 
you  could  plant  under  every  step  I  took,  or  that  you  could 
rain  dimonds  into  my  hat,  an'  there  was  the  smallest  chance 
of  my  heart's  love  sthrayin'  from  her,  even  the  length  of  a 
fly's  shadow,  it's  to  the  divil  I'd  pitch  the  whole  bilin',  soon 
an'  suddent.  So  you  can  keep  your  grand  gifts,  an'  yer 
fairy  liberty,  an'  take  my  blessin'  into  the  bargain,  for 
showin'  me  the  right  road." 

"You're  right,  Terry,"  said  the  leprechaun,  joyously, 
"  an'  I'd  be  proud  to  shake  hands  with  you  if  my  fist  was  big 
enough.  You  have  withstood  temptation  manfully,  and 
suflSciently  proved  the  kindliness  of  your  disposition.     I 


296  THE     TIPPERARY     YENU8. 

know  that  this  night's  experience  will  not  be  lost  on  you, 
but  that  you  will  henceforth  abandon  the  wild  companion- 
ship in  the  midst  of  which  you  have  hitherto  wasted  time 
and  energy,  forgetful  of  the  great  record  yet  to  come,  when 
each  misused  moment  will  stand  registered  against  you." 

"  And  now,  Terry,"  he  continued,  "  I'll  leave  you  to  take 
a  little  rest ;  after  all  you  have  gone  through  you  must 
sorely  need  it."  So  saying,  the  leprechaun  waved  a  slip 
of  osier  across  Terry's  eyelids,  when  they  instantly  closed 
with  a  snap,  down  he  dropped  all  of  a  heap  upon  the 
springy  moss,  and  slept  as  solid  as  a  toad  in  a  rock. 

When  Terry  awoke,  the  morning  was  far  advanced,  and 
the  sun  was  shining  full  in  his  face,  so  that  the  first  impres- 
sion that  filled  his  mind  was,  fhat  he  was  gazing  upon  a 
world  of  fire.  He  soon  mastered  that  thought,  however, 
and  then,  sitting  down  upon  the  famous  stone,  began  to  col- 
lect his  somewhat  entangled  faculties  into  an  intelligible 
focus.  Slowly  the  events  of  the  night  passed  before  him ; 
the  locality  of  each  phase  in  his  adventures  was  plainly 
distinguishable  from  where  he  sat.  There,  close  to  him, 
was  the  identical  branch  on  which  had  perched  the  legion 
of  little  pipers ;  a  short  distance  from  him  was  the  mazy 
hollow  through  which  he  had  so  singularly  forced  his  way ; 
half  hoping  to  find  some  evidence  of  the  apparently  vivid 
facts  that  he  had  witnessed,  he  put  his  hand  into  his 
breeches  pocket,  but  only  fished  out  a  piece  of  pig-tail 
tobacco. 

As  he  ran  over  every  well-remembered  circumstance,  he 


THE     TIPPERiLRY     VENUS.  297 

became  still  more  puzzled.  It  was  clear  enough  that  he 
had  been  asleep,  as  he  had  but  just  woke  up;  but  then  he 
was  equally  certain  that  he  was  wide  awake  when  the  lep- 
rechaun touched  his  eyelids  with  the  osier.  Indeed,  he 
looked  round  in  the  expectation  of  seeing  it  lying  some- 
where about :  but  there  was  no  trace  of  such  a  thino-. 

The  conclusion  he  came  to  was  a  characteristic  one. 
"  By  the  mortial,"  said  he,  as,  taking  up  his  pipes,  he  saun- 
tered down  the  mountain-road,  "  there's  somethin'  quare  in 
it,  sure  enough ;  but  it's  beyant  my  comprehendin'.  The 
divil  a  use  is  there  in  botherin'  my  brains  about  it ;  all  I 
know  is,  that  there's  a  mighty  extensive  hive  o'  bees  sing- 
in'  songs  inside  of  my  hat  this  blessed  mornin'.  I  must, 
put  some  whisky  in  an'  drownd  out  the  noisy  varmints." 

The  chronicler  of  this  veracious  history  regrets  exceed- 
ingly that  he  cannot,  with  any  regard  to  the  strict  truth, 
bring  it  to  a  conclusion  in  the  usual  moral-pointing  style, 
except  in  its  general  tendency,  which  he  humbly  considers 
to  be  wholesome  and  suggestive ;  but  the  hero  of  the  tale 
— the  good-for-nothing,  wild  roysterer,  Terry,  who  ought, 
of  course,  to  have  profited  by  the  lesson  he  had  received 
and  to  have  become  a  sober,  steady,  useful,  somewhat  bil- 
ious, but  in  every  way  respectable,  member  of  society, 
dressed  in  solemn  black,  and  petted  religiously  by  extatical 
elderly  ladies,  did  not  assist  the  conventional  denouement 
in  the  remotest  degree.  With  grief  I  am  compelled  to 
record  the  humiliating  fact,  that  Terry  waxed  wilder  than 
ever,  drank  deeper,  frolicked  longer,  and  kicked  up  more  pro- 

13* 


298  THE     TIPPERABT     VENUS. 

miscuous  shindies  tlian  before,  and  invariably  wound  up  the 
account  of  his  fairy  adventures,  which  in  process  of  time 
he  believed  in  most  implicitly,  by  exclaiming  : 

"  What  a  murdherin'  fool  I  was  not  to  take  the  money." 


THE     END. 


J     C.    DERBY'S    PUBLICATIONS. 


JACK    DOWNING'S    NEW    BOOK! 


WAY      DOWN      EAST; 

OR,    PORTRAITURES   OP  YANKEE   LIFE. 

BY  SEBA  SMITH,  ESQ. 

Illustrated,  12ino.     Price  $1. 

"  We  greet  the  Major,  after  a  long  interval,  with  profound  pleasure  and  respect.  Well 
'W  we  remember  how,  years  ago,  we  used  to  pore  over  his  lucubrations  on  the  eventa  of 
the  time — how  he  enlightened  us  by  his  home-views  of  the  Legislature's  doings,  of  the 
Gineral's  intentions,  and  of  the  plans  of  ambitious  Uncle  Joshua.  Here  was  the  '  spot  of 
his  origin,'  and  around  us  were  the  materials  from  which  he  drew  his  stores  of  instructive 
wit.  Therefore  we,  of  all  the  reading  public,  do  the  most  heartily  greet  his  reappearance. 
We  find  him  a  little  more  artistic  than  of  old,  more  advanced  in  grammar  and  orthography 
bust  withal  displaying  the  same  intimate  knowledge  of  Down  Eastdom,  and  retaining  the 
same  knack  of  genuine  Yankee  humor.  In  fact,  taking  all  things  together,  no  other 
wi-iter  begins  to  equal  him  in  the  delineation  of  the  live  Yankee,  in  the  points  where  thai 
individual  differs  from  all  the  '  rest  of  mankind.'  This  is  his  great  merit  as  an  author, 
and  one  which  the  progress  of  manners  will  still  further  heighten — for  it  is  only  in  some 
portions  of  our  own  State  that  the  real  Yankee  can  now  be  found. 

"  The  present  book  has  sixteen  chapters  devoted  to  home-stories.  They  are  racy  and 
tumorous  to  a  high  degree." — Portland  Daily  AdverUser. 

"  It  is  now  generally  conceded  that  Seba  Smith  is  the  ablest,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  amusing  delineator  of  Yankee  life  who  has  hitherto  attempted  that  humorous  style 
of  writing— not  excepting  even  Judge  Haliburton  himself.  This  is  no  rash  expression,  for 
there  is  not  a  passage  in  '  Sam  Slick '  so  graphic,  funny  and  and  comical,  but  we  find 
equalled  if  not  surpassed  in  the  sensible  and  philosophic,  although  ludicrous  epistles,  of 
'  Major  Jack  Downing '—epistles  of  which  we  defy  the  most  stupid  to  glance  at  a  para- 
graph without  reading  the  whole." — Philadelphia  News. 

"  This  is  a  book  of  real  Yankee  life,  giving  the  particulars  of  character  and  in;  ..dents  in 
New  England,  from  the  Pilgrim  fathers  and  their  generations,  Connecticut  Blue  Laws,  and 
the  civic  and  religious  rules,  customs,  Ac,  from  the  Nutmeg  State  away  down  East,  as  far 
as  Mr.  Jones  ever  thought  of  going.  It  is  a  very  laughable  aflfair,  and  every  family  in  all 
Yankeedom  wih  enjoy  its  perusal." — Hingham,  (Mass.)  Journal. 

"  Thera  are  few  readers  who  do  not  desire  to  keep  up  an  acquaintance  with  the  original 
Major  Jack  Downing,  whose  peculiar  humor,  while  it  is  irresistible  in  its  effects,  is  nevei 
made  subservient  to  immorality.  But  these  stories  are  an  improvement  on  those  originally 
given  by  the  author,  as  they  are  illustrative  of  Yankee  life  and  character  in  the  good  do 
times  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers." — Christian  Ad/vocate  and  Journal. 

"  The  stories  are  the  most  humorous  in  the  whole  range  of  Yankee  literature,  full  o/ 
genuine  wit,  rare  appreciation  of  fun,  and  giving  an  insight  into  human  motive  which 
■hows  the  close  observation  and  keen  relish  of  life,  of  a  good-humored  philosopher." — 
8a^u^day  Evening  Mail. 

•'  A  charmingly  interesting  book,  this,  for  all  who  hail  from  Down  East,  or  who  Ilk*  to 
read  {^ood  storieg  of  home  life  among  the  Yankees."— iSo^em  Regitt&f 

IS 


J.    G.    DERBY  S    PUBLICATION  J. 


THE     MORNINQ     STARS    OF     THE     NEW 
WORI.D. 

BY  H.   F.   PARKER. 

1  elegant  12mo.  volume,  over  400  pages,  six  Illustrations.    Price  $1  25. 

Contexts  :— Columbus — Vespucius — De   Soto — Raleigh — Hudson — Smith 
— Standish — Arabella  Stuart — Elliott  and  Penn. 

"An  unpretending  work,  yet  a  valuable  one.  The  authoress  mast  have  entered  upas 
her  task  with  hearty  enthusiasm,  as,  while  adhering  strictly  to  the  simplest  truth,  she 
has  thrown  around  her  portraits  a  new  charm,  and  given  to  them  a  refreshing  novelty 
of  aspect.  A  galkry  of  striking  portraits  worthy  of  preservation  and  a  galaxy  of  stari 
whose  morning  light  must  not  be  obscured  ia  the  noon-tide  brilliancy  of  a  successful 
present.  Ir.  just  such  a  form  as  this  should  they  lie  on  our  book-tables,  reminders  of  the 
past,  shorn  of  the  technicalities  of  the  history,  and  presented  in  strong  relief.  The  came 
of  the  authoress  is  one  almost  unknown  ;  but  she  deserves  the  thanks  of  the  public  for 
her  well  written  book  in  which  she  has  given  a  convenient  medium  of  communication  with 
days  of  long  ago — days  that  never  should  be  forgotten  even  by  the  busy,  bustling  world 
-that  cannot  stop  to  go  back  even  to  the  days  of  their  own  forefathers.  The  book  proves 
itself  a  very  entertaining  one  for  the  young,  who  declare  themselves  unable  to  leave  its 
fascinating  pages." — Worcester  PaUadium. 

"  A  more  appropriate  name  could  not  have  been  given  to  a  book  which  contains  all 
that  is  interesting  in  the  lives  of  the  master  spu-its  to  whom  the  world  may  be  said  to  owe, 
firstly  the  discovery  of  this  great  continent ;  and  secondly,  the  establishment  upon  it,  of 
European  colonies.  In  no  other  single  work,  o(  whose  existence  we  are  aware,  are  there 
to  be  found  so  many  sketches  of  the  discoverers  and  first  settlers  of  the  principal  parts 
of  the  new  world,  which  are  at  once  so  concise  and  comprehensive,  as  those  given  in  the 
Morning  Stars.'    They  are  truly  multwn  in  parr)o."~PhUadelphia  News. 

"  The  Muilioress  has  fashioned  her  materials  in  a  very  winning  garb,  and  with  a  spirit 
and  feelinj;  rarely  kindled  in  preparing  succint  biographies,  imparts  her  glowing  appre- 
ciation of  their  subject  to  the  reader.  We  hope  this  volume,  while  in  itself  it  will  be 
TaluabU  lo  the  young,  will  lead  them  to  more  extended  historical  reading,  and  especially 
of  that  which  pertains  to  our  colonial  life,  and  to  our  own  country.  It  is  well  that  they 
should  be  reminded  of  the  cosflicts  and  sacrifices  which  purchased  their  present  luxuri- 
ous  immunities.  They  cannot  begin  better  than  with  this  charming  volume,  which  they 
will  not  leave  unfinished." — New  Bedford  Mercury. 

"This  book  is  alike  novel,  and  fortunate  in  its  title  and  its  character.  It  contains  very 
jatistact.M-y  sketches  of  ten  of  the  great  spirits  the  history  of  whose  lives  blends  itself 
incsl  ii;:iiii;itely  with  the  earliest  history  of  our  country.  It  was  a  beautiful  thought ;  and 
It  is  carrit-d  out  in  a  manner  that  can  hardly  fail  to  secure  to  the  work  many  delighted 
readers  "—Albany  Argus. 

"  The  hook  has  all  the  charm  of  romance,  and  the  value  of  genuine  history.  It  \M 
Written  with  spirit  and  vigor,  and  at  the  same  time  with  precision  and  taste.  The  grouptag 
together  of  such  men  briugs  the  reader  iuto  the  best  of  company." — Utica  Herald,  fi 


J.    C.    DERBY  S   PUBLICATIONS. 


EXTEAORDINAKY     PUBLICATIOHl 


MY    COURTSHIP   AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

BY  HENRY    WIKOFF. 

k  true  account  of  the  Author's  Adventures  in  Eagland,  Switzeriand,  and 
Italy,  with  Miss  J.  C.  Gamble,  of  Portland  Place,  London.  1  elegant 
12mo.     Price,  in  cloth,  $1  25. 

The  extraordinary  sensation  produced  in  literary  circles  by  Mr.  Wikoff's  charming 
romance  of  real  life,  is  exhausting  edition  after  edition  of  his  wonderful  book.  From 
lengthy  reviews,  among  several  hundred  received,  we  extract  the  following  brief  notices 
of  the  press : 

"We  prefer  commending  the  book  as  beyond  question  the  most  amusing  of  the  season 
und  we  commend  it  without  hesitation,  because  the  moral  is  an  excellent  one." — Albion. 

"  With  unparalleled  candor  he  has  here  unfolded  the  particulars  of  the  intrigue,  taking 
the  whole  world  into  his  confidence — '  bearing  his  heart  on  his  sleeve  for  daws  to  pec' 
at' — and,  in  the  dearth  of  public  amusements,  presenting  a  piquant  nine  days'  wondt 
for  the  recreation  of  society."—^.  F.  Trilnme. 

"  The  work  is  very  amusing,  and  it  is  written  in  such  a  vein  that  one  cannot  refrain 
from  frequent  bursts  of  laughter,  even  when  the  Chevalier  is  in  positions  which  might 
claim  one's  sympathy." — Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

"  A  positive  autobiography,  by  a  man  of  acknowledged  fashion,  and  an  associate  of 
nobles  and  princes,  telling  truly  how  he  courted  and  was  coquetted  by  an  heiress  in  high 
life,  is  likely  to  be  as  popular  a  singularity  in  the  way  of  literature  as  could  well  be  though! 
oV'—Boms  Journal. 

"  The  ladies  are  sure  to  devour  it.  It  is  better  and  more  exciting  than  any  modern 
romance,  as  it  is  a  detail  of  facts,  and  every  page  proves  conclusively  that  the  plain, 
unvarnished  tale  of  truth  is  often  stranger  than  Action."— Baltimore  Dispatch. 

"  The  book,  therefore,  has  all  the  attractions  of  a  tilt  of  knight-errants— with  this  addi- 
tion, that  one  of  the  combatants  is  a  woman— a  species  of  heart-endowed  Amason.**— 
tTewark  Daily  Mercury. 

"  If  jrou  read  the  first  chapter  of  the  volume,  you  are  in  for  '  finis,'  and  c»n  no  mor« 
stop  without  the  consent  of  your  will  than  the  train  of  cars  can  stop  without  the  consent 
of  the  engine." —  Worcester  Palladiwm. 

"  Seriously,  there  is  not  so  original,  piquant  and  singular  a  book  in  American  Ut^ratnre 
Its  author  is  a  sort  of  cross  between  Fielding,  Chesterfield,  and  Rochefoucault."— ^«<ofi 
Chronicle. 

"With  the  exception  of  Rosseau's  Confessions, we  do  not  remember  ever  to  ha»«  heard 
of  any  such  self-anatomization  of  love  and  the  lover."— iV.  F.  Express. 

"The  book  has  cost  us  a  couple  of  nighte'  sleep;  and  we  have  no  doubt  it  has  '♦••t  Its 
fcuthor  and  principal  subject  a  good  many  more."— ^.  F.  Evening  Mirror. 

"  The  work  possesses  all  the  charm  and  fascination  of  a  continuous  romance.**-  Jf  Y 
4<)>wm.<j2  of  Oownierce. 


c.  derby's  publications. 


THK    OREEN    MOUNTAIN    TRAVELLERS' 
ENTERTAINMENT. 

liY  JOSIAR   BARNES,    SEN. 

12mo.     $1. 

•'They  will  be  read  with  earnest  sympathy  and  heartfelt  approval  by  all  who  enjo^ 
|uiet  pictures  of  the  homely,  yet  often  charming  scenes  of  daily  life.  The  style  well 
befits  the  thoughts  expressed,  and  is  equally  simple  and  'mpressive.  We  hare  found  in 
these  pages  better  than  a  '  traveller's  entertainment '—  one  whicli  will  mingle  with  the 
pleasant  recollectiuns  of  a  home  fi.reside." — Providence*Daily  Post. 

"  If  any  of  our  friends  wish  to  get  hold  of  a  book  written  in  a  style  of  pure  and  beau- 
tiful English,  that  reminds  one  of  Irving  continually  ;  a  book  rich  with  inventions  of  the 
marvellous,  and  yet  abounding  m  sweet  humanities  and  delicate  philosophies — a  book 
that  will  not  tire  and  cannot  offend,  let  them  go  to  a  bookstore  and  buy  '  The  Old  Inn  ; 
or,  the  Travellers'  Entertainment,'  by  Josiah  Barnes,  Sen.  It  will  pay  the  leader  well." 
—Springjleld  {Mass.)  EepuUican. 

"  It  should  be  praise  enough  to  say  that  tne  author  reminds  one  occasionally  o» 
Irving." — Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"  Unless  we  err  greatly,  a  volume  so  markedly  original  in  its  outline  and  features  wiU 
attract  a  large  share  of  attention." — Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

"  This  is  a  very  pleasant  book.     The  plan  of  it,  if  not  new,  is  just  as  well  carried  out 

Five  'r  six  'r  half-a-dozen  '  travellers  meet  at  an  indifferent  tavern  in  an  indifferent 

part  of  Vermont,  upon  a  seriously  unpleasant  day,  and  to  pass  away  the  dull  hours,  they 

fall  to  story-telling.     The  record  of  their  performances  in  that  behalf  is  made  up  into  thn 

volume  '  above  entitled.'     So  agreeable  became  the  diversion  that  not  only  the  evening 

of  the  first  day,  but  as  the  following  morning  was  conveniently  stormy,  the  second  day 

Is  coDsunied  in  similar  diversions.    Those  who  read  the  book  will  agree  with  us   inat  a 

stormy  ""ay  and  a  country  inn,  with  such  alleviation,  presents  no  very  great  hardship  to 

the  traveller,  unless  his  business  is  particularly  urgent.     We  commend  the  book  to  those 

<ho  like  a  pieasant  story,  pleasantly  told." — Budget,  Troy,  2f.  Y. 

"  Under  the  above  title  we  have  several  interesting  stories  as  told  by  the  various  ch*- 

MJters  at  tne  fireside  of  a  comfortable,  old  fashioned  inn,  to  while  away  the  long  hour« 

♦    storrm,  by  which  they  were  detained      The  Little  Dry  Man's,  the  supposed  Lawyer's, 

ki>d  the  Quaker's  stories  are  all  worth  listening  to.     They  are  well  told  and  entertain  the 

ftider." — Bangor  Journal. 

•'  This  is  a  serie*  of  stories,  supposed  to  be  related  to  while  away  the  time,  in  an  old 
Inn,  where  a  party  of  travellers  are  storm-stayed,  consisting  of  the  '  Little  Dry  Man's 
Story,' the 'Supposed  Lawyer's  Story,' 'Incidents  of  a  Day  at  the  Inn,'  the  'Quaker's 
Story,'  and  '  Ellen's  Grave.'  The  stories  are  well  told.  There  is  a  charming  simplicity 
in  the  author's  style — all  the  more  delightful,  because,  now-a-days,  simplicity  uf  lan- 
guage is  a  rarity  with  authors.  It  is  a  book  to  take  up  at  any  moment,  and  occupy  a 
leisure  hour — to  lay  aside,  and  take  «p  again  and  again.  We  commend  its  tone,  ant} 
Ihe  object  of  the  author.  It  is  a  pleasant  lompanion  on  a  country  journey  " — If.  t 
Oitpotch. 


J.  c.  derby's  publications. 


"IT  IS  A  LOYE  TALE  OF  THE  MOST  ENTRANCING  XIND." 

Boston  Daily  Traveller. 

*WHO  IS  THE  ATJTH0E1    WE  GUESS  A  LADY."-J^.  Y.  Life  Jliu^ated. 


ISORA'S      CHILD 

1  large  12mo.  volume.    Price  $1  25. 


••It  Is  one  of  those  few  books  of  its  class  that  we  have  read  quite  through— for  we  found 
A  to  hare  the  requisites  of  a  good  book,  namely,  the  power  of  entertaining  the  reader  to 
the  end  of  the  volume.  The  story  is  not  complex,  but  is  naturally  told;  the  characters 
ftre  drawn  with  sharp  delineation  and  the  dialogue  is  spirited.  It  is  something  to  add,  in 
ihe  present  deluge  of  bad  books  with  pleasant  names,  both  the  morals  and  '  the  moral '  of 
foe  work  are  unexceptionable.  It  is  understood  to  be  the  production  of  a  lady  whose 
name  is  not  unknown  to  the  reading  public  ;  and  we  congratulate  her  on  the  increase  of 
reputation  which  '  Isoba's  Child  '  will  bring  her  when  her  present  incognito  shall  be 
vtmo-v&^y— Burlington  (Vt.)  Sentinel. 

"This  book  starts  oflf  with  its  chapter  first,  and  introduces  the  reader  at  once  to  the 
heroes  and  incidents  of  the  really  charming  story.  He  will  speedily  find  himself  interested 
as  well  by  the  graceful  style  and  the  skill  with  which  the  different  scenes  are  arranged, 
as  by  the  beauty  of  the  two  principal  characters,  and  the  lessons  of  loving  faith,  hope,  and 
patience,  which  will  meet  him  at  the  tmning  of  almost  every  leaf.  This  is  one  of  the  best 
productions  of  its  kind  that  has  been  issued  this  season,  and  promises  to  meet  with 
warm  approval  and  abundant  success." — Detroit  Daily  Democrat. 

"  Another  anonymous  novel,  and  a  successful  one.  There  is  more  boldness  and  origi- 
nality both  in  its  conception  and  in  its  execution  than  in  almost  any  work  of  fiction  we 
*jave  lately  rea4.  Its  characters  are  few,  well  delineated,  and  consistently  managed, 
.here  is  no  crowding  and  consequent  confusion  among  the  dramatis  personce.  There 
.re  two  heroines,  however,  Flora  and  Cora,  both  bewitching  creatures,  and,  what  u 
jetter,  noble,  true-hearted  women,  especially  the  former,  Isora's  child — the  dark-eyed  and 
,>assionate,  but  sensitive,  tender,  and  loving  daughter  of  Italy.  The  work  will  make  it? 
-nark.  Who  is  the  author?  We  guess  a  lady,  and  that  this  is  her  first  bQO^."— Weekly 
L{fe  Illustrated. 

"Its  incidents  are  novel  and  effectively  managed;  and  its  style  possesses  both  <?arnest 
vigor  and  depth  of  pathos,  relieved  by  occasional  flashes  of  a  pleasmg  and  genial  humor. 
Among  the  crowd  of  trashy  publications  now  issued  from  the  press,  a  work  as  true  to 
aature,  and  as  elevated  and  just  in  its  conceptions  of  the  pu/poses  of  life,  as  this  is,  is  all 
Uie  Kore  welcome  because  it  is  so  rare.  We  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  as  popular  as  it  i« 
miereatmg."— Albany  Evening  Jownal. 

"  We  have  seldom  perused  a  work  of  fiction  that  gave  us  more  r»al  pleasure  than 
:his.  From  first  to  last  page,  it  enchains  the  attention,  and  carries  your  sympathies 
along  with  the  fortunes  of  the  heroine.  The  descriptive  powers  of  the  unknown  authoress 
are  of  the  loftiest  order,  and  cannot  fail  of  placing  her  in  the  first  ranks  of  authorship.'i 
— Cincinnati  Daily  Sun. 

"  A  Btory  which  perpetually  keeps  curiosity  on  the  alert,  and  as  perpetually  baffles  n 
ttU  it  reaches  its  d6noAment.  is  certainly  a  good  one."— -Bi#aio  Commercial  Adt^rU*^ 


J.    C.    derby's    PDBLICAnoXS. 


**  Bell's  sketches  are  instinct  with  life,  they  sparkle  with  brilliants,  are  gei  • 
med  with  wit,  and  address  themselves  to  almost  every  thotd.  oi  the  hamt-* 
heart." — LouMvUle  {Ky.)  Bulleiin. 


BEI.L    SMITH    ABROAD. 

A  Handsome  12mo.  volume.    Price  $1  00.    "With  Illustrations  by  iTjaly, 
"Walcutt,  and  Overarche 

"  The  readers  of  the  Louisville  Journal  need  uo  introduction  from  us  to  Bell  Fmith. 
Her  own  brilliant  pen,  and  her  own  sparkling,  witching  and  delightful  style  have  so  often 
graced  the  columns  of  this  paper,  and  have  made  so  many  friends  and  admirers  for  her, 
that  we  need  say  but  little  toward  creating  a  demand  for  this  charming  volume.  But 
some  tribute  is  nevertheless  due  to  Bell  Smith  for  the  real  pleasure  she  has  imparted  in 
CTery  chapter  of  her  book,  and  that  tribute  we  cheerfully  pay.  Her  admirable  powert 
peem  so  much  at  home  in  every  variety  and  phase  of  life,  that  she  touches  no  subject 
"*thnut  making  it  sparkle  with  the  lights  of  her  genius." — Louisville  Journal. 

She  is  ever  piquant  in  her  remarks,  and  keen  from  observation ;  and  the  result  ii 
-Jat  her  ♦  Abroad'  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  collections  of  incident  and  comment,  fun 
And  pathos,  seriousness  and  gossip,  which  has  ever  fallen  under  our  notice."— ^«toi» 
Evening  Traveller. 

"  It  is  dashing  and  vigorous  without  coarseness — animated  with  a  genial  humor- 
showing  acute  and  delicate  perceptions — and  sustained  by  a  bracing  infusion  of  common 
sense."— ^V.  Y.  Tribune 

"There  are  many  delicate  strokes,  and  not  a  little  of  that  vivacity  of  description 
which  entertains.  The  author  shows  her  best  side  when  matters  of  home-feeling  and 
affection  engage  her  pen." — If.  T.  Evangelist. 

"  History,  art  and  personal  narrative  are  alike  imprinted  in  your  memory  by  the  asso* 
ciations  of  anecdote,  merry  and  grave,  and  you  feel  that  you  are  listening  to  the  magical 
Toice  of  '  Bell  Smith'  at  Tiome  Such  volumes  enrich  and  honor  American  literature."— 
PhAladelphia  Merchant. 

"  This  is  a  capital  book  ;  full  of  life,  spirit,  vivacity  and  information— thoroughly  lady- 
like, and  telling  precisely  what  everybody  wants  to  hear,  so  far  as  the  author  knows." — 
Salem  Gazette. 

"  Spirited  and  artistic  !  Bell  Smith  sparkles,  and  dashes  on,  amusing  and  interestinf 
A  capital  book  for  a  leisure  hour  or  railroad  travel,  or  for  those  seasons  when  you  wani 
to  be  pleased  without  e Sort. "—Cleveland  Leader. 

•'  We  like  Bell  Smith  and  Bell  Smith's  book.  A  lively,  free,  dashing  style,  she  talks 
©n,  and  nothing  is  wantihg  but  the  merry  laugh  we  know  she  is  owner  of  to  make  us 
think  we  are  listening  to  a  very  Interesting  woman  " — Chicago  Journal. 

"Lively,  gossiping,  chatting,  witty,  sparfeling  Bell  Smith,  we  must  confess  your  book 
feas  quite  enchanted  us."— -^^.  Y.  Day  Book. 

"  In  freshness,  piquancy,  and  delightful  episodes,  illustrative  6f  foreign  life  end  mam^ 
oers,  they  have  rarely  been  equaUed."— i^"'?07jaZ  Era. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


IRN       CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 

■^       202  Main  Library                         642-3403 

J  PERIOD  1 
OME  USE 

2 

3 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

1 -month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling  642-3405 
th  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books  to  Circulation  Desk 
newals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  due  date 

DUE   AS   STAMPED   BELOW 

vi^^     '^       '    ">- 

NO   DD  6,  40m    6'76            UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 

BERKELEY,  CA   94720 

/^^2^3.V^/P 


774173 


/) 


/ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


